Even Saints
by Againstnormal
Summary: When the owners of the Sin Bin opened a new location, they kept the same old scumbags. Mikhail Beketov is one. When the brothers go in for a hit and things get... complicated, they'll be in situations unlike any before. ConnXOC
1. Your Spirit's Alive

**Author Note: **Yes, a non-Naruto fandom fic, be shocked, be awed. And my latest addiction, so much so that I worry I will sully the good brothers' names by making them sound stupid or cheapening it. But, I shall embark on this story anyway.

**Timeline:** Alt. Universe, Pre-All Saints Day (which is pretty droolworthy, I must say), Il Duce won't be in the picture for a while... he's um, off on business.

**Warning: **M, nudity, adult situations, possible later lemon(s) and much violence to come, I'm sure

**Song Reference: **Your Spirit's Alive

**Artist: **Dropkick Murphys (_Won't always be Dropkick Murphys or Flogging Molly, just a bit cliché for me)_

**Lyrics:** We are the ones who will never be broken, We are the ones who survive, This is the sound that brings us together, You are the one by our side.

* * *

The manager, Sam, poked his head in, seemingly oblivious to the fact that this was a girl's dressing room.

"Five minutes, ladies," he said, before disappearing again.

She could hear the low rumble of masculine voices and the clatter of glasses and plates.

Delilah put the finishing touches on her makeup for the night's performance. She had transformed her eyes with thick black eyeliner and shadow, wearing more makeup than she ever did... which was none.

She was making decent money, so she was convinced this was worth it. Whatever paid the bills...

Looking at the schoolgirl outfit in the mirror, coupled with pigtails, she felt stupid and silly, but the men at the club didn't think she looked silly or stupid... and the customer is always right.

This job was a learning experience, that was for sure. She had been quite innocent before this , but that was no longer the case. She could use her body as a tool in her profession and had become quite good at it. That didn't mean that some deep part of her was ashamed, but her heart and her head overrode that part, telling her there was a good reason she was doing this. To keep a roof over her head, and to keep food in her stomach.

She was broken out of her thoughts by Amy appearing in the mirror over her shoulder, looking beautiful in a deep violet bra-like thing and bottom with gold embroidering. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a high pony tail and her eyes were circled with subtle, shimmering gold and then rimmed with dark kohl. Her black stilettos were at least 4 inches but she moved gracefully as if she were floating. Self-consciousness set in again as she looked at the girl, feeling that this glamorous amazon would have the crowd booing the shy petite schoolgirl.

Delilah had to take on the "Angel" persona, as The Two-Leaf Clover's owner had dubbed her when she had auditioned. Angel was sexy, fearless... Delilah was... not. When being shy could've lost her this well-paying job when she had most needed it, she got over it by leading a double-life.

Work was work, and when she was at work she was Angel, the sexy stripper everyone wanted to have in their bed that night... and when she was home she was just Delilah, just herself. Whatever that meant.

As she stepped out, she took a deep, calming breath, slipping into Angel's mindset. She noticed The Two-Leaf Clover was crowded, just as it had been the night before, and the night before, and the night before, the air thrumming with the base beat of the music, the air thick and sweet with the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke, with the underlying reek of men who couldn't figure out how to put on deodorant and shower correctly. Angel rubbed up against her pole sensuously, feeling the cool metal against her back.  
Today's outfit was pretty decent, considering the amount of skin it covered. A school girl shirt that came right below her breasts, tie down the middle. The miniskirt was plaid, completing the schoolgirl look with matching thong and stockings. Every dirty pervert's fantasy. It was to her advantage to look innocent and sweet, it brought in the most tips.

Even when Cherry was turning down the pole not ten feet away from her, looking like a goddess. She'd never understand men.  
It was just a normal night at the club, located in Southie.  
Angel hooked a high heel around her pole and pulled herself up, risking splaying her legs wide in the splits, knowing the pole would cover what was really important... hopefully. The act earned her a few more approving stares from eyes that weren't already glued to her every move and she got even more when she wrapped her legs tight around the pole and let go with her hands, hanging suspended for a moment until her hands touched the ground and she was able to dismount in a graceful handstand.  
One thing that could be said for this job, it definitely improved her flexibility and coordination.  
The men that watched her hungrily seemed to find her coy smiles and timidness just as alluring as the less busty, more adventurous Cherry on the pole about five feet away, for tonight the money was coming in fast.

Delilah didn't understand it,but she shook her head slightly. This was Angel dancing, not Delilah. And the crowd thought Angel was hot.  
She swiveled her hips in small figure eights that gradually gained size, still unsure whether she was pleased or disgusted with the way their dark eyes followed her movements. She tangled her fingers her in loose red strands and noted that a grizzly and gruff man in the front row who looked like he ate whole chickens for breakfast licked his lips at her provocatively.  
Ew.  
Unnerved, Angel turned away and gracefully dropped to her knees, crawling along the opposite edge of the platform and allowing the men that could reach to slip money into her G-string. She clenched her teeth when a few of them grabbed for more than they were supposed to, but turned to smile flirtatiously at them. It was her job, after all.  
Soon, the lap dances would begin. Then she could head back to her station at the bar and serve the men there, who were mostly either too shy, too scared their wives would find out, too cheap or poor, or too drunk to realize their surroundings. In a strip bar, no one wasn't horny enough to get a lap dance. That was kind of the point.

A few dancers were just a little too proud, remembered their Catholic childhood a little too much, too give lapdances. Namely, her. Being alone in a both with a guy... she couldn't see her "Angel" persona lasting under that kind of pressure. It brought red to her cheeks even to think about it.  
The song ended and the men retreated slightly from the stage. She hurried to the back room to change into slightly less degrading clothing before heading to the bar.  
Of course, no bras were allowed under the white belly shirt that was required for bar work, but it was warmer and covered more than the skanky outfits the girls and herself were forced to wear on stage. And slipping scotch tape over that certain _problem_ would fix it pretty well.

She pulled the dark shorts over her hips quickly, and washed the makeup from her face, reapplying it more subtly since she wouldn't be far away and under the shimmering lights of the stage anymore.

She slipped her cross on, and under her shirt as she walked out into the dimly lit serving area, where men could order drinks and some food, though it was no better than pub quality, if not worse. Orders for food were taken upstairs, where a woman standing with a cigarette in her housedress would be awaiting them.

They were cooked over a greasy gas stove, and carried back downstairs when the woman rang the bell for an order complete. Delilah only suggested food to those who had annoyed her in some way, by either heckling the dancers or her. They deserved what they got, in most cases.

* * *

"Oi, Murphy, think we should 'ead out? Connor said, looking up from his book. A proper Catholic boy would've been reading the Bible, but the brothers had never really been the _standard_ proper Catholic boys.

"Aye, I thought ya'd never ask!" Murphy said from his position at the end of his single mattress that sat, sans bedsprings or frame, on the cement floor of the old factory loft.

Being friends with cops did have some merits. There was the free donuts... and if there happened to be a police report of two Irish Catholic twins fitting the descriptions and pictures on the news of the "Saints"... the police report would have hypothetically disappeared into thin air. Like Magic.

It also saved them from having to move their meager possessions down the five flights of steps. Though Murphy knew that sure as fuck Connor would've been carrying his stupid fuckin' _rope_ down the stairs. It was a lot heavier than it looked... right.

Murphy had been cleaning his gun, but now set it in the black duffel bag leaning against the side of his bead.

"Put down yer pussy chick book and let's go."

Connor had decided that after the last mess-up during a hit, they should take this one seriously. They had planned to stake out The Two-Leaf Clover and see the routines, when everyone was there, the like, like Micheal Weston did.

And they would have... were that Murphy weren't such a wimpy little girl.

_Murphy mimed smoking a cigarette, blowing the steam out his mouth like a child might do. It still amused him to no end, even more so to know that it annoyed Connor. The car they had "borrowed" was starting to get real chilly, but Connor refused to turn it on, saying they would look more suspicious if they did._

_ Boston was having one of the coldest winters on record, temperatures dipping to -10, feeling like -30 with wind chill. The wind wiped the air out of you and froze your breath and your nose as soon as you walked outside._

_ "I'm so fuckin' cold, Connor. This is some retarded shit, this is. We've been here four fuckin' hours an' nothing's happened!" Murphy said to Connor. Connor kept his eyes fixed on the door of The Two-Leaf Clover and didn't reply._

_ "I was thinkin', why did they name it The Two-Leaf clover, then I realized what it looked like." Murphy said. Connor kept his eyes locked in place and said nothing in response._

_ "Ye've not had a cigarette for four hours... I'll give you one if we can leave now." Murphy said hopefully, trying to bribe Connor. It didn't work. Connor still watched the door intently, looking for all signs of life._

_6pm-2am every night, dances start at 7pm_

_ Connor stepped out of the car and walked over to the hours sign, seeing what time the place opened and closed. An old woman walked by as he did and she pulled her dog and grocery bag closer to her when she saw what he was doing. Knowing he wouldn't be able to convince her he wasn't out to do something nefarious, he turned back to the car and walked through the ankle-high snow to get back to it._

_ He turned the key, starting the engine. "I'll take that cigarette." The green lights on the dashboard had displayed 4:06pm._

The Two-Leaf Clover was a fairly small, dingy building on the industrial side of town. It was windowless, sitting at the curb like yesterday's forgotten trash.

It was owned by the previous owners of the Sin bin, who had closed the Sin Bin when quite a few dancers wouldn't work there anymore. Though nothing had changed, just the name and location. Same owners, same scumbag customers... same chance to clean house.

The neon light blinked open on the darkening South Boston street. The temperature was dropping, and Connor pulled up the collar of his coat, avoiding the brown slush on the sidewalk.

Connor reached for the green door, pulling it open and immediately smelling the stench of sweat, cigarettes, and booze. He noticed the dim club had well-lit one stage with three poles on it, a few tables, and a long bar on the other side. A door he presumed led to an office was on his left, along with other rooms... that he could only assume he knew what were for.

There was an emergency exit at the back. When in doubt, know your way out.

Murphy noticed... other things. His eyes were glued to the stage until Connor smacked the back of his head. Murphy shook his head and continued walking with Connor to two seats at the bar, keeping his eyes carefully on where he was going.

When they sat, the song was just ending, and the bartender was no where to be seen, they decided to wait, checking out who was around them. Just some low-lifes and a couple low-level mobsters.

The bartender finally came around to everyone, red hair in pigtails, wearing a little white shirt and black shorts. She was obviously not wearing a bra, and Connor tore his eyes away from the petite girl to check around the bar again.

The girls were starting to dance again, but it was different ones this time. The last dancers were circulating through the crowd, presumably offering more. When the bartender finally got down to them, she smiled as she whipped her hands of alcohol on a bar towel.

"What'll you boys have?" She asked.

"Eh, two beers," Connor answered.

"What kind?"

"Surprise me," Connor said.

"And you?" She said, turning to Murphy.

He shook his head and said "Same fer me," He turned away from the dancers.

She held up eight fingers and grabbed two Heinekens between her fingers, then popped the tops off with a bottle opener. The tops fell to the counter with two satisfying pops, and she set the beers in front of them.

Connor handed her eight bucks and she slipped it into the cash register.

"Thanks," they chorused, grabbing their beers.

"'Ave ya ever wondered 'ow in the 'ell they wear those damn things, the thongs?" Murphy remarked after they drank, his eyes back on the stage. Connor rolled his eyes, then glanced over at him and raised his eyebrows. Murphy was lighting a cigarette.

"I thought, of all people, ye'd know. Ya should be used to 'avin' things up yer ass, eh?" Connor said with a smirk.

"Ah shut up Conn, yer just jealous 'cause they're lookin' at me," Murphy said, his eyes back on the stage.

The night dwindled down, until finally there was only a few more patrons in the bar. The boys hadn't gotten another beer, knowing they should probably stay sober, as scary as the thought (of staying sober) was, if people might be shooting at them. Not that they weren't proficient in Drunken fist-fu... but it didn't seem like a good risk.

"'E didn't show up Murph." Connor whispered to his brother, his lips to his bottle, though it was already drained.

"Yea, I noticed. So what do we do?" Murphy whispered back, grabbing his coat off the back of the barstool and putting it on, turning around.

He was about to step off as Connor said, "Wait, wait. There 'e is." The man emerged from the back room, his light brown hair slicked back to his head. He definitely looked the part of greasy slimeball trafficker.

The man they were after this time was Mikhail Beketov, an underboss of the newly reconstructed Russian crime syndicate. Supposedly, he dealt in pretty women. Not just as a pimp, but also in slaves. He sold the girls overseas, shipping them out secretly after kidnapping them. He'd been prosecuted of course... but he'd gotten off. Time and time again.

Sometimes the justice system just didn't cut it.

Hoping for extra information, Connor met the red-head bartenders eyes and smiled, thus getting her attention and she came over. "What'll it be?"

"Just another beer for us," Connor waited as she gracefully opened another beer. And leaned in to ask her, "Who is that? He's been glaring at me all night and I just can't place him."

She grabbed a rag and started to wipe the counter down, picking up a hundred different tastes and kinds of alcohol in one swipe. "That's Ross. He's just a bouncer," She swiped closer and leaned in. "And he always looks that way."

She smiled and winked, then went to the other side of the bar, getting a martini for another patron. "That's not our guy," Connor said, looking away from the bartender's ass and paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing.

Another man walked out of the V.I.P. Room.

"But I suppose that is?" Murphy said, inclining his head at the man.

"Most likely," Connor took a long gulp of his new beer, appreciating the cold freshness of it.

The man was probably 6'5" and built like a truck. He was wearing a suit, and looked clean, unlike the bouncer they had mistaken for him. The man checked his watch, and it flashed, catching the weird angle of the light from where he was standing.

He pulled a cigar out of his inside pocket and walked for the door, grabbing a set of keys from the bouncer, who had just walked back inside. Presumably, Ross had pulled his car around. So that was who Mikhail Beketov was, huh?

What a fucking asshole.

They stared at the back of the man's beige suit as he walked out the door.

"Well that was certainly anti-climatic." Murphy said, draining his beer.

"Tell me about it." Connor said, doing the same.

Down the bar aways, the bartender was leaning on the counter, flirting with the only other patron. She was smiling, her red hair just barely spilling around her face from where it was loose at her shoulders.

"I guess the strippers aren't the only buyable ones," Murphy said, meaning the bartender was selling her body as well as her liquor from behind the counter. They knew some strippers sold more than a dance. They'd been watching them lead men to the back all night.

"Nah, I don't think so Murph," Connor said. Murphy sent a questioning look his way, waiting for him to finish explaining. He didn't go on.

"So why do ya think that?" Murphy led him.

"She's wearin' a cross."

"I don't see one. Where?" He'd done his fair share of checking the bartender out that night, but she didn't have tattoos or jewelery, and her shirt that said "The Two-Leaf Clover: Wave your Irish flags!" certainly didn't have a cross on it.

"...Under 'er shirt."

"Fuck, and ya call _me _the dirty pervert!" Murphy complained, grinning around his cigarette.

Connor was quiet as the other patron's head hit the bar, landing safely on the folded up towel the bartender had stuck by his glass as he talked to her. She shook her head and called for the bouncer to get him a cab and send him home. He seemed to be a regular.

"We're closing in two minutes!" She called, pushing in the cash register drawer with her hip and reaching into her pocket to count her tips. She had a surprising amount, considering she was only a bartender.

Connor and Murphy got up to go, and as they were heading out the door, Connor stopped, letting Murphy go ahead of him. Then he walked back to the bar. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

She jumped, she had been concentrating on her work. "...It's Delilah."

"I'm Connor. It's a pleasure," then he left, unaware that the handsome face and sexy Irish accent made a stripper returning from duty trip over her feet.

When he left, Cherry turned to Delilah.

"Who was _that?"_

"...I don't know." They both watched the door swing shut.

**A/N: **Hope you liked! Reviews would be... _amazingly _appreciated. Cybercookies for you. I have a really hectic schedule right now but I'm hoping to have the next chapter up very soon!

P.S. For all of those who don't know BDSII is coming out on DVD and Blu-Ray March 9th! Just in time for St. Patty's Day hangout/get-together/party things.

_It's all in good fun._


	2. Build God Then We'll Talk

**Song Reference: **Build God, Then We'll Talk

**Artist: **Panic! At the Disco

**Lyrics: **It's these substandard motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont Street, appealing only because they are just that unappealing. Any practiced Catholic would cross themselves upon entering. The rooms have a hint of asbestos and maybe just a dash of formaldehyde, and the habit of decomposing right before your very eyes. Along with the people inside**...**

Sometimes she hated this job. Sure, the pay was great and her hours were flexible... but when people find out you work at the post office, they don't think you're a whore. If you work at The Two-Leaf Clover, a club famous for more than its stripping, you automatically are deemed a whore by society. And not without cause, either.

Even if you only dance a couple times a month, when you really need the money.

Still, while the other girls worked the paying men's belts looser, Delilah was working their wallet further open steadily, glass by glass.

Cherry had smirked at her when she had expressed that opinion and told her that this was the closest thing to legal that selling her absolute favorite activity got. Of course, Cherry also got money from her modeling job, so she didn't actually need to be there... but she was, because it was what she loved.

Cherry was one of the few rare girls who actually enjoyed stripping and the power she had over the men. Not that the power wasn't nice, but Cherry _thrived_ on it. She couldn't live without them drooling over her.

However, on a night like this...Delilah _really_ hated her job. There was a man, sitting at the bar, trying to get her to go to the back with him. Her teeth clenched as he refused to move on, on to someone who actually _was _for sale.

"The bar is for those that pay and drink. If you're not going to, go away," Delilah said, wiping the perpetually dirty counter.

"Look bitch, any woman in this joint can be bought in a place like this. All I have to do is walk over to your manager over there and tell him I want you. If I throw enough cash at me he'll give me whatever I want. Now be a good girl and give daddy what he wants," Delilah's blue eyes turned to steel and the man stared drunkenly at the angry redhead in front of him.

"Well fine then. I'll have a shot of prairie fire," the man said. She rose her eyebrows and turned to mix the Tabasco sauce with the tequila needed for the shot. "You can have one too, on me," he said, giving her a wink.

She cringed, and knowing it was against the rules to decline a drink, made herself one too. As he toasted her health, she toasted with him, and as he gulped she spit hers back into an empty beer. However, the nasty taste was still left in her mouth and she had to gulp from a bottle of water to rid her mouth of the burning from the Tabasco.

"Now, honey, want to have some more fun that'll make you feel on fire?" He said. She rolled her eyes then glared at him. That had been the first drink he had ordered all night. He wasn't just a lusty drunk, he was a gross asshole.

"I could call security right now and have your ass banned from every club in the city or I could get you a drink and you can leave," Delilah said, about to grab the walkie talkie on her hip when she saw the bouncer coming towards them.

"Oh, here he is," Delilah said, waving happily at the bouncer. The burly, muscular man rose an eyebrow and came closer, evaluating the situation between Delilah and the man in front of her. She turned her eyes to the fat, balding man at the counter who was had gone deathly pale. He emptied his glass and turned from the bar, without meeting her eyes again.

Delilah nodded her head at the bouncer, who nodded back and turned around, going back to his station closer to the stage. The dancers were the major income and got more hassle than the bar, so it made sense that he was always up there. However, she thought maybe he had other, ulterior motives too.

She wondered if maybe that guy, Connor, would be back from yesterday. She didn't think so though, it looked like he didn't belong. Maybe he was just there for whoever that other guy was. She'd spent enough time studying them the night before that she knew they had the same eyes, so they had to be related.

Delilah grabbed a glass and got herself some more water, having run out with that last Tabasco-induced need for relief, sneaking a glance around the bar to check for Connor. She felt very sneaky, as if the James Bond theme song should be playing behind her as she grabs the gun under the counter and shoots the scumbag villain before drinking again.

Except to kill every scumbag in the place she'd need a lot more than just one gun. And accounting for what lack of aim she probably had... probably more than ten. She grinned against the rim of the glass.

"How ya doin' Delilah?" Asked a low Irish accented voice from the counter. Delilah jumped three feet into the air and blushed, setting down her glass. Connor. How did he always manage to make her jump like this?

"Pretty good C-... um what'll ya have?" She stumbled over the words, almost saying his name. Girls, bartenders included, weren't allowed to call a customer by their first name. It made the other customers jealous and think they were taken, and if they forgot the customers name... Well that was even worse.

Employees at The Two-Leaf Clover had to be available, but still unavailable. They had to be nice, but dance like sluts. The series of contradictions went on...

"A beer, any kind. And what, ya don't remember my name?" He asked with a wink. She turned to get another Heineken for him, effectively hiding her embarrassment.

She handed it to him and grinned. "Nope, was it Conrad... or maybe Ron?" He shook his head, taking a drink. She rolled her eyes at him, then looked around at the steadily arriving stream of patrons and to the clock. It was just about time to dance.

The other Irish guy had just walked in the door and sat down by Connor, asking her for a beer. She gave one to him quickly, her eyes still watching the clock. The short hand came below seven as she grabbed her keys from under the counter.

"Bar's closing!" She yelled, then flicked off the lights, locking everything up. She tossed the keys to the bouncer, who grabbed them and nodded to her as she went behind stage.

If The Two-Leaf Clover wasn't too stingy to hire another bartender, the bar wouldn't have to close. Also, she wouldn't have the busy period at midnight that she had, where she didn't get to stand still for about an hour.

Or hell, even if they just got a bouncer that had some drink-making skills. But no, that would cost extra money, and the owners were all about keeping all of the extra money they could.

You would never accuse the owners of being good businessmen, that was for sure. The money they would get off drinks during the first dances was probably double what they'd make after that, but they didn't think so.

After the Sin Bin incident, where every girl stopped working until they moved locations because they were scared, no one thought they were good at their jobs. A few people had just left all together.

There was a woman, though she couldn't remember her name, who had witnessed the whole shooting before passing out. "I'm getting the fuck out of the porn industry" was now a quote around the girls, said when something particularly annoying or disgusting happened. Like if someone you were giving a lapdance to tried to touch just a bit too much, or if you danced your heart out but didn't get many tips that night because you didn't completely expose yourself like some of the other girls.

Anyway, the consensus was that the owners were stupid. Especially now that they let _more _of the same scumbags through the door. It was just asking for a Saints shootout, and if a girl got hurt, they'd have to pay for that. Plus increased insurance...

They just weren't very smart. Blame the Boston school system.  


* * *

Pounding music, flashing lights, the smell of sweat and alcohol. The whole club scene was getting a little monotonous in Connor's opinion and he would give anything to be sitting back at Doc's pub, sipping a beer.

Hell, about the only thing better about this club than the pub was the bartender's cute banter. If he and Murphy weren't there on business, he might have considered asking her for a drink. But that was definitely out of the question, as it was.

"And now, Angel!" A speaker said, booming over the music to announce the newest stripper. The crowd of guys cheered, ready for someone new to fixate on after the last dancer. They were like a group of little boys with pet flies.

He leaned back in his chair, tugging on the hat that covered his dirty blond hair and tried to make a mental note of the faces gathered round without making it to obvious he was doing so. He recognized a few from crimes seen in papers or the news, but nothing major. The boys' main target was still Mikhail Beketov.

Murphy elbowed him and Connor looked over at his brother, raising an eyebrow. Murphy's eyes flicked to the stage and said, "Did ya know she was a stripper too?" Connor's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then he lifted his eyes to the stage.

There was a redhead dancing, stepping around the pole to wrap her leg around it and spinning downwards. Delilah? Maybe it was just him, but a pale woman in black... there was just something incredibly sexy about it... It made her skin seem to glow.

When he saw more of her cleavage than before, Connor averted his eyes and counted to ten, then turned back to the counter. He glanced around the pub again as Murphy sat transfixed, watching the girl turn and twist. Murphy brought the beer to his lips and grinned over at Connor.

"Your little girlfriend's not quite the good little Catholic girl we thought 'er to be."

"And we're the typical good Catholic boys?" Connor asked his brother, looking at him peripherally while drinking his beer, avoiding Murphy's comment by asking a question.

However, even though he tried to remain focused, his eyes kept drifting back to the redhead woman on stage. She was climbing the pole now, easily swinging her body around on it. Many were whispering to each other and nodding their heads at her, others were grinning with lecherous expressions, no doubt wondering what was hidden beneath the small scraps of black she wore. What did he expect of slimy criminal perverts though?  
He watched her spiral down the pole to land on the ground with a twirl before climbing back up again. The whoops of the crowd got louder as she stripped off her small black top. He tried to focus on scanning the crowd instead of her pale breasts, but gave up, knowing it was useless. He may be Catholic, but he was still a man.

He continued watching her for a while... Until he spotted Beketov, the human-trafficker who sold pretty girls to some seriously fucked up rich men, watching Delilah, an undoubtedly pretty girl, slide upside down, wrapped provocatively around her pole. He had a notebook out, and was quickly taking down notes on the small yellow legal pad.

"...Fuck."

Things were about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Delilah smiled innocently, not knowing what kind of hell she was in for. Connor elbowed Murphy sharply, bringing his attention back to the redhead up front. Murphy immediately spotted the problem.

"Ahh... fuck," He took a long drink from his beer and set it down, sighing and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Nope."

Murphy turned back to the counter, leaving Connor to stare at Delilah, who was crawling along the edge of the stage sexily, receiving cash and numerous gropes for her trouble. When Mikhail stepped forward, he didn't do anything inappropriate to the dancer, just slipped quite a chuck of cash into the string of her panties and whispered a few words to her after she presumably said some kind of thank you.

Delilah's eyes widened and she continued down the line. Beketov the walked away, but Connor had no idea what Mikhail had said to her. But it didn't matter, since Delilah was stepping back behind the stage, her bikini top in her hand as she slid behind the curtain.

Connor was just glad this scum would be off the streets starting tonight. Murphy and him both had their guns at their sides, disguised by their large pea coats. Security really was pretty thin at The Two-Leaf Clover, but it had been at the Sin Bin as well.

Connor nodded to himself. Mikhail Beketov was a bad man, and starting tonight he'd be a dead man. That was just how it was supposed to be.

Be Angel, be Angel, be Angel.

Delilah chorused that through her head, finishing performing one of the three dances she usually rotated between whatever nights she worked. She crawled along the stage, letting men stick money into her thong strap, but glanced back when a particularly large wad of cash was placed at her hip.

Angel glanced at the man putting money into her strap appraisingly. He was well known around the club. He tipped exorbitantly well and wasn't actually half bad to look at, unlike most of the guys in the place. Beketov, she thought his name was

She rally needed to make rent this month. Deciding, she crawled back to him. "Honey, want a dance?" she asked, her voice low and what she thought was probably seductive.

"No, sugar," he said, his eyes roving her form. "I only like my teases if I can eat the whole cake." His Russian accent slurred the words a bit, but it was still an understandable, if not disgusting, metaphor.

Sex. He wanted sex, or nothing. She pulled back, shaking her head no, and quickly continued down the line, feeling his eyes burning into her back, or ass, if she was entirely truthful, the whole time men were sticking bills into the various straps on her body.

Angel stood back up, giving smile to the men hovering behind the sage. She grabbed her top off the floor by the pole.

She stepped behind the curtain, pulling the bar's shirt over her head. She pulled her small black shorts up, before bending down to unbuckle her high heels and stepping out of them.

She still had to give a lapdance at some point tonight, it was the only fast way to make rent. She sighed, slipping into another pair of heels, just black ones this time. She really could've used the money from a lapdance with that guy...

But she wasn't willing to have sex with him. No way.

She walked into the din of male voices and smoke, heading for the woman's bathroom. It didn't have stalls, unlike the men's, and one small dingy mirror, nothing compared to the ones backstage or even on the floor of the stage.

Delilah tugged on the cold metal of the faucet and let the water run for a few seconds as she examined herself. Shit. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser that looked like it was from a fast food chain next to her, and ran the cloth underwater, rubbing her eyes and cheeks.

In her hurry, she'd forgotten to clean up her makeup. She sighed, looking at the slightly discolored face and the lingering black that made her eyes look rather beat-up and tired. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to shake off how the guy had acted, what he had wanted. It made her feel unclean just thinking about it.

She hurried back to the bar, and the night got started again.

"It's closing time, guys," Delilah said to the boys, wiping down the red substance that was on the bar next to them with a bleach soaked cloth. She had used bleach, just assuming it was blood, not willing to investigate whether it truly was or not.

She didn't mind blood too much, but puke was another story. She just couldn't stomach cleaning that stuff up. If the guys at the club could just figure out it was smart to stop when you started feeling queasy, her job would be so much easier. And it _definitely_would be better if they didn't puke and rally, which was just disgusting.

"See ya Delilah," Connor said, pulling Murphy along with him. Connor shoved Murphy's shoulder and told him something quietly before they went out the door. Not that Delilah watched them go or anything...

Idly, she wondered what she would've said had Connor been the one to ask her for sex. Probably not, she decided. But maybe if they had met some other place...

She would've said yes. The sexy and polite twin didn't seem to fit in at this place. But this was all impossible anyway, and Connor didn't seem like the kind of guy that needed to ask girls to go home with him. They asked _him _if they could.

Still, she imagined him coming up to the bar and with that low sexy accent, "Are you asleep, girl?"

Huh? She shook her head, glancing at the counter where the man who had asked for sex earlier stood. Well, the one that _wasn't _drunk and had a very different kind of accent than the brothers. Beketov. "The bar's closed."

"But you're not, honey," the man said, his Russian accent showing again in his voice. It was low and rich, but left her with an eerie feeling.

"I'll have a scotch," he said, grinning at her like the cat who's had the crème.

She reached for the glass, turning from him to get his drink. It wasn't worth fighting with him and he was important enough that the bar would (by the owner's rules) always be open for him... but he needed to go away soon or she'd be calling security. Unease settled in her stomach as she glanced back over at the man.

"Here's your drink. Six dollars on your tab, Beketov," she wrote the number on the bad in front of her, beneath the counter. He was a major spender at the club, and a VIP, one of the only me who were allowed a tab.

She grabbed his scotch and set it on the counter with her other hand as she wrote. He grabbed her arm and her eyes snapped to him. "You're coming with me you little whore."

"No, I'm not. Security!"

"He won't be coming, honey."

Delilah cast her eyes around the club. The dancers had all left by now. The Irish guys had been the last customers. The only people left were her and the man with the tight grip on her arm. Beketov was telling the truth, Ross, the security, was nowhere in sight.

"What's wrong with him? What did you do?" She struggled to get away from him, tugging at her arm. "Ross! _Ross_!"

"He's dead, my sweet," Beketov said, holding her chin so she would have to look him in the eye, leaning uncomfortably over the hard counter, it biting into her skin. He laughed and dropped her chin when she shook.

And she shook some more, a tear falling from her cheek, more to come. Ross couldn't be, he couldn't be–

Beketov's finger pointed from the arm that wasn't restraining her, drawing her eyes to the back. A door stood ajar, something blocking its closure.

Delilah gasped, more tears coming to her eyes. Her uncaptured hand flew to her mouth in horror. The jean encased legs and large work boots that held the door open weren't moving. And they were definitely connected to the rest of Jim's limp body behind the door.

"Get away from me! Help! Help! Help! Get away from me!" Delilah sobbed, yanking on her arm with all of her might, trying to pull it from the man's grasp. He was too strong.

"No, I think first we'll have a little fun."

"No, no!"

"You could've enjoyed this, even gotten good money for it. But now, it's too late. You're mine," he said he dragged her around the hard and sharp counter and shoved her to the ground.

"No one turns me down. No one," He kicked her in the stomach, a satisfied look on his face when she doubled over on the ground in pain, curling into the fetal position.

He bent to her as she tried to crawl away, or get up, anything to get away from this man. She flinched as he reached his hand out to stroke her cheek before he stood up and stomped sharply.

_Crack. _Delilah couldn't register her own screaming, but the excruciating pain came through clear as day. It raced through her leg from where the tall and big Russian man had stomped. Her ankle, she thought, he broke my ankle.

"I couldn't have you getting away, darling," he reached back down to pet her hair before toying with her short sleeves.

"Don't, no, please..." She cried. He pinned her to her ground with his knees, causing her vision to go white with pain when her ankle shifted as he turned her over.

"Help! Help me, please–" There was a smack and tears sprung to her eyes as Beketov hit her across the face.

"Shut up you little bitch. This is an industrial area. No one to help you, no one to hear your screams, honey. Just you and me."

* * *

Murphy and Connor were headed around to the back entrance, closer and a more secure entrance to the VIP lounge Beketov was sure to be in when Murphy stopped dead in his tracks.

"What, are ya nervous Murph?"

"What? Nah, Connor... did ya hear that?" Murphy looked around him in the dark alley, as if trying to pinpoint something Connor couldn't hear.

"Hear what?" Connor asked, trying to hear.

"Listen," Murphy said, paying attention to all sounds around him. Nothing. "Hmm... nevermind."

Murphy and Connor broke the lock on the back door easily, since the chain was half rust anyway. "Fuck, you'd think they'd up the security just a bit..." Connor said, putting the chain cutter back into the black bag they had retrieved from where it was hidden in the garbage bins that littered the alley.

"Well if they're gonna make it this easy maybe we _will_ actually come down and clean house once a week. Justice and a show," Murphy said, grinning.

They pulled open the door, slightly, hoping there wasn't an alarm on the other side. Thankfully, there wasn't. They continued along what seemed to be the owner's offices, seeing their way via a slightly open door.

They could hear voices at the bar and glanced at each other, deciding to wait it out. They couldn't be sure who the other person was, and they'd learned the lesson of planning ahead quite well after the Da incident.

Connor opened a file cabinet slowly, looking through the file names with a flashlight. The names on the files themselves were like a hit list, just waiting for them.

"Oh fuck," Murphy said from across the room.

"Mmnph?" Connor said, holding the flashlight in his lips, grabbing two files and flipping them open.

"It's a fuckin' dead guy. What the fuck Connor?" Connor dropped the files back into place in the file cabinet, shutting it slowly.

Connor walked over to Murphy and checked the large man on the ground's pulse, then stood. Murphy stared expectantly at him.

"Whatdya want me to say, Murph? It's a fuckin' dead guy. I think it's the bouncer."

"Ya know what, I'm the older brother, so ya should respect-"

A woman's screaming started in the bar and Murphy and Connor tried to look through the crack in the ajar door to see what was going on. Suddenly, their ears were focusing much more on the conversation they had been hearing in the bar area.

"I couldn't have you getting away, darling," a man said as the woman's whimpers continued, as if she were in excruciating pain.

"Don't, no, please..." the woman cried. "Help! Help me, please–" There was a smack, it sounded like the man had hit the woman.

Connor and Murphy glanced at each other and drew their guns. "Bad men."

"Dead men."

"Shut up you little bitch. This is an industrial area. No one to help you, no one to hear your screams, honey. Just you and me." With this, Connor and Murphy leapt over the body of the security and rushed to the bar.

Beketov had realized they were there and yanked Delilah up to one foot, the other she was keeping off the ground by lifting her knee.

"We can all walk away from this richer men," he immediately stated, glancing at their guns.

"Not interested," Murphy said, looking up at the taller Russian man.

"Let the girl go," Connor told Beketov, assessing Delilah's injuries. Her eyes were wide and her features ashen, especially when she looked down to her ankle that was hanging oddly.

"No boys, she's my property. Paid in cash," Beketov said, smiling widely.,

"Fine," Murphy said.

A second later, the boys were standing, their arms holding two pistols. Beketov held a knife to Delilah's throat as he stared the twins down in front of him.

"We could come to an agreement," Beketov said in a charming, voice.

"We want the girl," Connor said.

"Fine, have her," Beketov said. In a flash, he sliced a cut across Delilah's abdomen. Both of the twins' jaws clenched when Delilah turned even more pale and the mortal red of her blood started spilling onto her white shirt and pale skin.

"If she lives, I'll be back for her before she's healed, I'll promise you that," Beketov said, throwing Delilah into Connor. Her blood dripped onto the floor as Connor caught her. In that instant, Beketov was gone, Murphy chasing him into the night.

**A/N: **Review! I guess this would be the easiest way to find out, but I've been hearing about _In Nomine Patri,_ a possible third Boondock Saints movie. Opinions, rumors?


	3. HeroHeroine

**Song Reference: **Hero/Heroine

**Artist:** Boys Like Girls

**Lyrics: **I've got a closet filled up to the brim, with the ghosts of my past and the skeletons, and I don't know why you'd even try but I won't lie... I feel like a hero and you are my heroine. Do you know that your love is the sweetest sin?

**A/N: **All Spanish will be translated at the bottom, so I'd recommend reading it while reading the chapter so it doesn't spoil anything... unless you know Spanish.

Connor looked down at the girl in his arms as he sat on the floor. Delilah was extremely pale. Her dark blue eyes and long lashes were in contrast with the gore of the situation. She was staring up at him in shock and pain. Her white hand was clutching at her stomach, but it was quickly becoming dark with her blood.

Her eyes widened as she looked down at her hands, seeing the blood flowing.

He pushed his hands on top of hers, even harder, keeping pressure on the wound. "Fuck... Delilah..." He looked up into her eyes, focused directly on him.

"You're okay now, don't worry. 'e's gone."

"H...help me... Connor... please..." Her eyes fluttered closed and he stared at the limp form of the woman leaning on his arm, his hands still pressed to her stomach. Her obviously broken ankle was the least of his worries at the moment. It at least couldn't be fatal.

He leaned over and grabbed a fallen cloth from the bar. It was dirty with blood and the bar floor's various...attributes. "Shit," he said, before tossing it down and gently moving Delilah to see if he could get his shirt off to help soak up some of he blood.

Useless, however, since he couldn't get his shirt off and keep her supported.

Murphy pushed the door to The Two-Leaf Clover open roughly, letting in the cold from outside the door and showing the smoggy light that was Bean Town at night. Connor sent him a questioning look, silently communicating.

When Murphy shook his head back, Connor looked down at the woman. "This fucker will pay," Connor said, looking back up to Murphy. Men don't hurt women. Taking aggressions out on someone your own size who can defend themselves or run away is one thing, but doing it to a woman was a whole other fucking thing.

"Aye."

"We've gotta get 'er to the 'ospital, Murph. She won't last very long." Delilah was bleeding steadily and her breathing and heart rate didn't seem very healthy to Connor. Not really that surprising, he guessed, considering what she'd been through.

"Arbour is... decently close," More like a mile or three, but they couldn't just stay and wait.

Connor picked her up and she stirred, her eyes slowly opening as he walked out of the Two-Leaf Clover, asking Murphy to cover her up with his jacket as he continued applying pressure to her stomach, worrying at how much blood she was losing.

"We really need ta get a car," Connor said to Murphy, trying to make light of the situation.

"Ooh... where are we going?" She asked, her voice faint with exhaustion as he picked up the pace. He figured it was a good sign she was awake, though she held her head to his collar in a way that made him think she wouldn't be awake for very long.

"'ospital. Are ya feelin'... okay?" It seemed the polite thing to ask, but it wasn't as if she'd be just _spiffy_ after getting her stomach slashed by that asshole.

She looked sideways at him and said, "Are you sure I'm the one who has major blood loss?" Connor smiled, hoping her regaining wit was a sign that maybe she'd pull through. She managed a weak smile as well, then her eyes widened.

"You can't take me to the hospital," Delilah said, readjusting herself and grimacing in pain as she did in his arms.

"Why the 'ell not? You're 'urt, 'ospitals treat 'urt people. 'urt people get _better_ when they go to 'ospitals." He continued his stride, his arms starting to ache a bit. She didn't weigh much but his arms were in kind of a difficult position to maintain to keep her stomach from having too much stress on it.

"Because if Beketov finds out who I am, then you guys are, he'll find us," Delilah said, looking around the dark street, only illuminated by one street lamp, suspiciously.

"Don't worry, lass. We plan on findin' 'im first," Murphy said from beside them.

"Aye, we will." Connor said, as if that closed the matter, just because they thought that their accents and their presence just ended all arguments. Though, Delilah found it hard to find her voice, to find the words to use.

"Well, then set me down here and I'll walk home. I'm not going to that hospital, you can't make me." She gave Connor and Murphy baleful glares, splitting her malice between them.

"Ya 'ave a broken ankle. And who's carrying who?" Connor asked her.

"Even if yer ankle wasn't broken, yer _one _shoe is a we impractical for walkin', wouldn't ya say?" Murphy said, looking down at the black high heels still on her one foot, the dangling off of Connor's arm. Her other foot was in Murphy's hands as he supported it. The shoe was long gone. Come to think of it, Murphy realized they probably looked like they were dragging a hooker home for the night. That was just fucking great.

"¿Que su problema?" Murphy asked Connor, glancing at the unknowing subject of their discussion, who was shivering in his pea coat.

"Chinga si sé." Connor said with a shrug.

"¿Debemos forza ella?" Muprhy asked.

"No, pero no podemos cauteriza..." Connor said, thinking back to when they themselves had been shot. He wouldn't be able to do that to _any_ woman, much less when the wound she had was his fault.

"Golpea ella estar inconsciente." Murphy suggested, wishing he could light a cigarette but couldn't since he had to hold Delilah's foot. Oh well, at least hospitals allowed smoking. Right?

He wasn't very fond of hospitals, and tried to frequent them as little as possible, but that didn't seem right. Damn.

"¡No, tú!" Connor said, looking down at Delilah's interested expression.

"Oh shut up you whiny bitches and take me to the hospital. My stomach hurts..." Delilah said, her eyes slipping closed.

"...Oops." Murphy said as they continued walking towards the hospital. They laughed and Connor checked Delilah's breathing and discovered it was deep and even, probably just asleep. He hoped all of these signs pointed to her getting better and a shallow cut, but it had seemed like an awful lot of blood to lose for a slight wound.

Feeling Delilah's stomach in her sleep felt a little inappropriate, especially since she wasn't wearing much and almost a stranger, but given the circumstances, he figured he could call it good and not have to go to confession.

"The bleedin's stopped, now it's just slight bleedin' from movement." He told Murphy as he tried to make his pace more even and smooth to prevent more.

"Aye, there's the hospital now."

* * *

"Good morning Mrs. O'Murphy, how are you feeling?" Delilah's eyes opened wider, inhaling the antiseptic chemical smell that hospitals hold so near and dear to their hearts.

The florescent lights hit her eyes and she closed them quickly against the bright light. She started to ease them open, getting used to the lights of the hospital.

"Wh-where's..." She trailed off her eyes landed on a man's form in the chair, his collar turned up as he slept. Judging from the light hair, it was Connor, not the one who had held her foot yesterday, whatever his name was.

Oh wow, she'd never thought to ask one of the men who saved her life's name. And maybe she'd never see him again.

"What was that, honey?" said the elderly nurse Delilah had forgotten was in the room. The nurse's sponge pastel patterned nurse's scrubs met her eyes when she turned to the nurse who was checking the IV stuck into her arm.

She scratched and grimaced at it after the nurse turned away. "Oh, I was just saying that I'm kind of thirsty." It wasn't entirely untrue, her throat and mouth were dry.

The nurse pulled over the tray-on-wheels that fit over the bed, placing it at her bedside. "Sorry, it wasn't all the way over here earlier." There was a large jug with a bendy straw in it, full of water, just sitting on the tray.

She reached for it, and immediately felt splitting pain across her stomach. "Oh, let me get that for you. It's time for more pain medication." Delilah cringed, and focused on her elevated cast instead of on what the woman was looking at after she was handed the jug of water. When the nurse was done, she smiled that motherly smile the oldest nurses have perfected, and soon all of Delilah's pain was gone.

"Broken ankle?"

"Yes, the doctors got you into it around 4am."

At least Delilah knew she could afford to be here. Sometimes Massachusetts health care reform wasn't such a big pain in the ass. It was certainly better than paying these ungodly medical bills, especially with the shit for pay she got.

"He's been here all night, or rather, morning," the nurse said, nodding to Connor. "Are you two from Ireland?"

"He is, but I'm not," Delilah told her, sticking as far to the truth as she could, not knowing what Connor had already told the woman.

"And his brother is too? I thought maybe, since they both have the accents."

"Yep, they both are. Do you know when I'll be released?"

"I would think as soon as the doctor comes around, but don't try to cut any vegetables for a while," The nurse finished checking all of Delilah's screens with a smile. "Yes, everything seems to look good. Call me if you need anything, sweetie." She said before slipping out the door and shutting it against the hallway noise with a soft click.

Delilah looked down at her IV in disgust. She hated hospitals, no matter if they were free or not, there was nothing worse than that smell and the "hospitality". At least she had been unconscious for the actual sharp-thing-stabbing-into-skin part.

She felt her stomach turn and tried to stop thinking about it, looking away from the IV to her right side. Oh, yeah. Connor.

"Are you awake?" She asked, feeling stupid, because obviously he wouldn't reply if he wasn't awake, and he certainly didn't look like he was awake.

"Aye, I am. She woke me when she left," Connor's blue eyes turned to her, and he pulled down his jacket, running his hand through his hair. "'ow're you doing?"

"Good..." Delilah looked away and blew out a deep breath. "I'm sorry I called you guys whiny assholes." She said, looking at the ceiling.

"I believe it was actually whiny _bitches_," He said, laughing. _Assholes_ wouldn't have been near as shocking.

"So, why are you still here? I would've figured you and your brother would've left..." Delilah said, peeking over at him, judging his reaction. His face was impassive.

"Well-"

"You were going to knock me out!" Deliah said.

"We weren't serious. We were more shocked than anything, we didn't know you could speak Spanish."

"Yeah, it kind of seemed like it." Delilah said with a smile.

"No, we didn't. Did ya take it in 'igh school or somethin'?"

"No..." Delilah said, grinning, "I took French. I _don't _know Spanish."

"Fuck."

"What?"

"I owe Murphy ten dollars." Murphy... so that was the other brother's name. Good to know.

"...but you didn't answer my question," Delilah said, watching the Irish man, who looked away. She laughed. "Just because the pain meds made me high doesn't mean I'd forget."

"Yea," Connor said, scratching the back of his neck with a half cringe on his face. "Sorry 'bout that."

"So, why are you still he-" The door opened and Connor hid his surprised smile badly behind his hand as a young doctor walked in. He had dark brown hair, blue eyes... and a white lab coat.

"...Murph?" The other brother, Connor, shook his head and grinned. Delilah didn't understand. Was Murphy a doctor?

"Where'd ya get that?" Connor asked with a grin.

"Don't even fuckin' start. Ginger here got blood all over ya and it was the easiest way to sneak this coat up here." Oh, that made more sense... blood?

"Thanks." Connor said, standing up. Finally, Delilah noticed the blood stain that covered his abdomen. The red-brown was obvious against the muted blue-grey of Connor's t-shirt now that she didn't have his smile to distract her.

The world spun and Delilah felt sick. She went pale and focused on the other wall, counting backwards in her head. She turned as much as she could from the men, trying to get away from the sight.

_60, 59, 58, 57..._

"Fuck, that's a lot of blood."

"Can ya go soak it in that bathroom over there?" Connor asked.

Delilah could hear quick steps, followed by the turning of a tap and running water. She felt faint as her stomach turned, thinking of the blood swirling the clear water red down the drain.

_30, 40... no, 29..._

"Delilah?" Connor said, rushing over, clothed in his new button down lab coat. "Do ya want me to call the nurse? Ya look kind of... sick."

"Ugh. Just enough with the fucking blood already." Delilah said, closing her eyes. A moment of clarity hit the men as they realized why Delilah suddenly looked sick. Connor's face lit up in a grin that mirrored his brother's.

"Red, gooey, iron, gushy, blood!" Murphy sang from the bathroom.

"I think she's gonna blow!" Connor yelled, jumping behind one of the waiting chairs.

"Oh shut up," she said, grabbing one of her pillows and covering her eyes and face with embarrassment. She tried not to laugh as she threw her other pillow backwards, intending to hit Connor.

"Ya missed."

She tossed her other pillow too, giggling lightly now, so as to not rip her stitches or jar her ankle.

"Careful Connor. Haven't ya heard o' of a ginger's temper? You've seen ma when she gets ang-" a pillow hit Murphy's head with a thud.

Connor grinned at the emerged Murphy, the pillow at his feet having disappeared. Murphy grinned back and he picked up both of the unused pillows laying on the floor. He tossed one to Connor and they both nodded, before turning to Delilah.

Out of ammunition and surrounded, her eyes widened at the advancing men.

Someone knocked on the door, saving her. Murphy quickly tossed the pillow he had to Connor and said, "Come in."

Connor walked quickly to Delilah's bedside, and stopped, smashing the pillows together and back as the door opened. "What are-"

"Shhh," Connor whispered, helping her sit up. He pushed the now fluffed up pillows under her head, keeping himself between her and the door.

"Good morning, it's nice to see you awake Mrs. O' Murphy."

Connor let out a relieved sigh, and pushed up her covers. A salt-and-pepper haired man walked around her bed with a coat like the one Connor was now wearing on. The only difference was he had a green stethoscope around his neck, hanging around both sides.

"And... um, Dr. O' Murphy I presume?" The doctor said with a laugh, obviously realizing that Connor didn't work at the hospital. Connor smiled back at the older doctor, glad he wasn't an ass about him wearing the coat.

...Dr. O' Murphy. O' Murphy... as in Delilah O' Murphy?

"I'm Dr. Webb," He said, looking down at the clipboard he had in his hand. He reached down, grabbing a pad out of the pocket of his white lab coat. He grabbed a pen out of a pocket as well.

"This is a prescription for more pain medication, same as you had for the broken arm a year ago, Mrs. O' Murphy, so you should know how to use it. Just follow the directions on the bottle, I'll give it to the nurse... We'll get you in a new cast and you can go. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great Doctor, thank you," Connor said, standing to shake the man's hand.

Delilah stared at Connor as the doctor shook his head. He couldn't have...

Connor winked at her and she giggled, then stopped dead, holding her hand to her stitches. "Oww..." Dr. Webb turned back to her with a frown.

"How's the pain level?"

"Eh, not so good." Dr. Webb injected more pain medication into her IV, marking something on her chart.

"You should be good now."

"Thank you," she said. He exited, shutting the door softly. Murphy came out of the bathroom with a grin.

"I think Dr. Webb has a crush on ya, Connor," he laughed.

"Oh shut up," Connor said, smacking him as Murphy sat on the waiting chair next to him.

"Mr. O' Murphy, eh?" Delilah said, watching Connor's reaction with a giggle. The pain was gone, it was definitely gone. Delilah felt happy and light. Oh, it felt so good...

"They wouldn't let me stay if I was just an annoying asshole that you had served at a bar."

"But you're a _sexy_ annoying asshole who_ saved my life._ And you evade my questions! It's not fair..." Delilah pouted.

Then paused. _What did I just __**say**__?_

Connor and Murphy looked at each other with their eyebrows rose. "I think the doc gave ya just a bit too much." Murphy said.

**¿Que su problema? - What's her problem?**

**Chinga si sé. - No fucking idea.**

**¿Debemos forza ella? - Should we force her?**

**No, pero no podemos cauteriza... - No, but we can't cauterize it...**

**Golpea ella estar inconsciente. – Knock her out.**

**¡No, tú! - No, you!**

**A/N:** I'd love some reviews :) Having a party to celebrate the release of the second movie tonight :D


	4. When I'm Gone

**Song Reference:** When I'm Gone  
**Artist:** 3 Doors Down  
**Lyrics:** "There's another world inside of me, that you may never see. There're secrets in this life, that I can't hide... I'd give up everything, if only for your good, so hold me when I'm here, right me when I'm wrong..."

**Russian translated at bottom, same drill as last time. (Note: Correct me if it's wrong, because I obviously do not know Russian and therefore had to rely on various websites and Google Translate)**

_ He brushed her hair away from her face. "I wish I could tell you this will all be okay..." he said. "But it won't be."_

"Good morning Mrs. O'Murphy, how are you feeling?" Connor heard an older nurse, presumably the one from earlier, ask Delilah. Mrs. O'Murphy... wonder how she'll take that.

"Wh-where's..." those sexy beasts who nearly got me killed? That might've been what she was thinking, but she didn't continue. Connor liked to think that was just to spare the poor old ears of the nurse.

"What was that, honey?" The nurse asked, obviously wanting Delilah to continue asking where the mancandy men were. He felt kind of bad for having to reject the nurse. She just wasn't his type, what with the wrinkles and grandchildren and all...

"Oh, I was just saying that I'm kind of thirsty." Good cover Delilah, good cover.

It sounded like the nurse pulled over the tray-on-wheels that fit over the bed, placing it at her bedside. "Sorry, it wasn't all the way over here earlier." Oops.

"Oh, let me get that for you. It's time for more pain medication." There was some shifting, and for a while, there was no sound except from Delilah's machines.

"Broken ankle?" Delilah asked. Connor cringed, they'd thought he was abusive for that one. Her ankle was thankfully just broken instead of splintered, but it looked like it was from pressure. Specifically, a big boot slamming down on her ankle.

Beketov's big boot.

"Yes, the doctors got you into it around 4am." That'd been a long ass walk in the dark, constantly worried she was too cold or dying. He and Murphy had tried to get a hold of Doc for a ride, but they hadn't been able to until after they were already at the hospital.

"He's been here all night, or rather, morning. Are you two from Ireland?" Great, now Delilah probably thought he was a total freak.

"He is, but I'm not," Delilah told her, making him curious as to where she had come from. She was obviously Irish, with red hair and O' Murphy of all last names, probably Catholic since Delilah was Samson's cheating wife... Was she originally from Bean Town? What was her family like?

How the hell had an innocent Catholic girl become a stripper?

"And his brother is too? I thought maybe, since they both have the accents," the nurse said.

"Yep, they both are. Do you know when I'll be released?"

"I would think as soon as the doctor comes around, but don't try to cut any vegetables for a while,"Yeah, right. The lame story Murphy had thought up about a block from the hospital. "Yes, everything seems to look good. Call me if you need anything, sweetie." She said before slipping out the door and shutting it against the hallway noise with a soft click.

Connor and Murphy sat in the waiting room, waiting for Delilah to finish getting dressed in her hospital room.

"What are we gonna do with 'er?" Murphy asked his brother, who was leaning to one side of the low chair he sat in. His head was in his hand, and he looked weary from the lack of sleep.

"Well ya heard him as well as I did, Murph. We can't just leave 'er alone," Connor said, thinking.

"Aye, I know," Murphy replied, "we can't just leave the lass alone when that Beketov asshole'll be after her."

"She could always come home with us..." Connor said tiredly.

"Yea, but do ya really think she'll go for that though?" Murphy asked, looking sideways over to Connor.

"No, but she 'as to, she doesn't 'ave a choice... and well, ya know 'ow it always works for James Bond... the girl is always completely okay with everythin' 'e says," Connor said with a shrug.

"...What's up with this James Bond shit? I thought ya wanted to be Charlie Fuckin' Bronson or some fuckin' shit."

Connor remained silent as his brother stared at him, waiting for a reply that wasn't coming.

Then he smacked Murphy in the back of the head.

"Wha' the fuck was that for?" Murphy asked, glaring at Connor and rubbing the back of his head.

"Shut up!" Connor said, watching two men talk to the nurse at the front desk. Big, burly, and with Russian accents. They were asking for something, but the nurse kept shaking her head.

Connor knew what they were after immediately, and he smacked Murphy then tilted his head in the direction of the two Russians.

There was no way they could let Delilah go home now, she wouldn't be safe. It was their fault she was in this situation anyway, if they had hit Beketov a little earlier, when they'd first gotten the chance, she wouldn't have ever had this problem. She wouldn't have a broken ankle, or stitches across her stomach.

Connor poised to pull out his gun if need be, watching Delilah's door and the two men, but the two Russians walked away without glancing at the boys, looking very pissed off. One of them was pulling out their cellphone.

"Fuck...'ow do you think she'll react?" Murphy asked softly.

"I guess we'll see..." Connor replied, watching the redhead in question's door.

Then Delilah emerged from her room, with impeccable timing. She started over on her new crutches, and Connor stood, walking over to her.

"Are you okay, need help?" Connor asked. Murphy walked over as well and they started to usher her out of the hospital, knowing they had to get moving. Soon enough Beketov would pull some strings to find out which hospital Delilah had been at, and they'd be fuck if they weren't the hell out of dodge by then.

"You want me to do _what_?!" Delilah gaped, looking back and forth at the boys. "No way. Not gonna happen! I'm not even in danger!"

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance, then looked back at the stubborn woman.

"...Golpea ella estar inconsciente?" Murphy asked with a grin, thinking Delilah would know he said "Knock her out?"

Connor smacked him on the back of the head. "Is that your solution to everything?" Connor tried to think of another idea, other than Murphy's retarded one, watching for the Russians as they hustled Delilah out the elevator.

"We could always go to your house," Connor said, hoping it would make her more comfortable with the idea.

"I'm not in danger, there's no point!" Delilah said, trying to move away from them.

"There's two Russians in the building that work for Beketov. They're looking for you," Connor said, hoping it would scare her so she'd realize the gravity of the situation.

It worked. Delilah paled and looked away, thinking. Finally, as they continued out the front door, she said, "Well... I guess at my apartment it wouldn't be as bad..." She averted her eyes.

"Okay, then we'll stop by our apartment first, to pick up some things, then head to your house," Connor said, looking around for Doc's car. He was supposed to be waiting for the boys outside.

"Are ya two done bein' bitchy little girls?" Murphy asked.

"Oh shut up Murphy."

Delilah looked around the ransacked apartment in dismay. Her apartment. Her first real home, that was being paid for with her own money.

It wasn't much, just a shabby two-bedroom with a tiny kitchen, but it was _hers. _She would've screamed, fallen to her knees, if it hadn't been for her cast. She would've done anything to express how miserable she felt, had Connor not broken her out of her train of thought by speaking.

"Delilah..." He said in sympathy, looking around the apartment. He supposed it had been just as nice as Murphy and his new place, just with many more feminine touches, judging from the artwork strewn on the floor, some slashed, some stepped on.

She'd almost forgotten about the two unforgettable men with bags slung over their shoulders. Clothes for a week, Connor had said. Not anymore.

She obviously couldn't stay. Someone had probably called the cops, and she didn't want this pinned on the boys, or the fact that the guns they carried were probably not registered. They were good guys, decent guys, the kind who were hard to find these days.

Delilah silently went to the closet and tugged the half off the hinges door until it opened slightly, leaving enough room for her to squeeze in. When she looked, she could see her untouched duffel bag. Some gym's promotional slogan was plastered over the nondescript navy blue of the bag, but it would work. There was no way it couldn't work.

She wondered when the landlord would come knocking for bill money and find the mess and sighed. Half of the things in the apartment were tipped over, miscellaneous papers littering the floor. What wasn't scavenged by neighbors or broken was lying in heaps.

Delilah dug though one heap, throwing clothes into her bag. Comfy clothes, practical clothes. Really, they were the only one's left. She suspected 705 of taking her other clothes, the other girl was about the same size.

She then moved to the bathroom, working automatically. She had to get other necessary supplies. Toothbrush, toothpaste, the works.

Delilah patted the rosary that laid under her shirt for luck, then zipped the navy blue bag closed. What was she going to do?

She glanced over to the boys, who were holding their guns casually, but looking around the apartment with fierce awareness, as if someone would jump out behind the overturned sofa at any minute.

"So, obviously ya're comin' to stay with us," Connor said, sparing her just one glance as if his solution made perfect sense. Which it didn't, of course. She could just go stay with Amy or Cherry, sure they had guys coming in and out all the time (quite literally), but they'd be happy to give her their sofas for a while.

"You guys don't have enough room. Much less beds," Delilah said. Their place was a lot like hers she supposed, in that it had two bedrooms and wasn't in a great part of town. Theirs was a lot neater than hers ever was though, especially at the moment. Their sofa wasn't really meant to sleep on, and the two mattresses on the floor, though very guyish, weren't exactly her idea of comfort.

In other words, they didn't have room for her. At all.

"We've already offered it to ya, O' Murphy. Stop being so perverted, to suggest that we all sleep together! Why, ya're makin' Connor and I blush," Murphy said, patting Connor's shoulder. Connor smacked him away with a grin.

Delilah was glad that she wasn't a blusher too much, but gave up trying to hold eye contact with the two.

"Ya can 'ave my bed," Connor said, ready for the subject to be over with.

"Nah, she can 'ave my bed," Murphy said, "It's nice and comfy... and I only sleep cuddle a lit-" Connor smacked him on the back of the head, disrupting Murphy's flirting.

"She's a lady, Murph!" Connor whispered to Murphy, both of them closing in for a huddle-ish thing. Delilah wasn't entirely sure what they were doing.

Their conversation continued for a few seconds, ending with Connor turning and saying, "Ya can 'ave my bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

Delilah was about to protest further when a car door slammed on the street, followed by a slightly smaller slam. Connor and Murphy were still hyper-aware, so Connor looked quickly to Murphy, who shifted Delilah's askew curtains aside to look down at the street.

He saw two men in dark suits getting out of a beige sedan. One was smoking a cigarette, the other talking into a cellphone, scanning the windows close to Murphy on the side of the building. He motioned Connor and Delilah out of the way, ducking and stilling the curtains so the man wouldn't see them.

"We've got company. Two, looks like the ones from earlier," Murphy said. Connor nodded, thinking about the situation quickly.

"Ya wanna take care of them?" Connor asked.

"Sure," Murphy said. He opened the door, leaving it slightly open like it had been when they arrived at the apartment. He took off, running down the hallway to the stairs quickly.

"Come on Delilah," Connor said, opening the door more for her. He grabbed her bag and slung it over his other shoulder, the one that didn't have his own bag on it. "We had better get going."

Delilah nodded and pushed over her crutches, going painfully slow. Connor looked around the hallway, and seeing no one, he adjusted his bags, settling them into a faster and more convenient way of setting.

"What's in here, bricks?" Connor asked with a trademark smile, trying to lighten the situation.

"Connor... the elevator..." Delilah said, watching the faded orange at the top rise. _4...5...6..._

"Shit!" Connor grabbed Delilah's arm, slinging it over his shoulders, He grabbed her crutches as well, and Delilah could feel her stitches straining against the stretching of her stomach. She tried to focus on the cool metal of the crutches against her leg, and even the feel of Connor's warm body against her.

Connor pushed her door shut softly and turned to Delilah. "Where can we hide?"

"Coat closet. It's empty," Delilah said, trying to keep up with how quickly and calmly Connor was handling the situation.

"Sorry 'bout this," Connor said, pulling the closet door shut after cramming himself in the small closet too. It was a tight fit with both of their duffels and them, but it wasn't as if they had many choices.

"You're lucky I didn't get shelves in here," Delilah whispered against Connor's chest. Not that she minded being locked in a closet with Connor, aside from the bad high school memories it brought back.

Connor, however, didn't like it. He could feel all of her soft curves pressing against his body, and being a man, he struggled to think of things that were entirely unarousing, such as da in a bathing suit. Not working. Hmm... da and ma having sex.

Blech. There was a mental image to rot your brain. It would definitely do the trick for Connor though.

The door to Delilah's apartment opened, and Delilah tensed, not breathing. Connor practically sighed with relief. At least now she wasn't moving against him much.

"Где мало сука?" One of the men asked the other, crunching something that had been on the floor. Connor decided against translating for Delilah unless it got important, first for sound, second because these guys were assholes.

"Вы думаете, что я знаю?" The other man responded. "Может быть, это была просто мародер или что-то."

"Нет, она здесь." Connor could hear the man's gun slide out of his holster and the safety click off. He pulled his own gun out slowly, pointing it slightly above the knob of the door with his left hand.

"Come out, little birdie... I won't hurt you. Much." The man said in his thick Russian accent. He laughed, and Connor could hear footsteps approaching the closet.

"Will the little birdie come out to play?" The Russian man asked his hand resting on the doorknob. Connor clicked his gun off safety and shot through the door. Three more identical shots rang out within the small room and Connor opened the closet door, pointing his gun at the remaining Russian. Or so he thought.

The Russian Connor had shot had fallen to the floor, sobbing in his native tongue. He clutched at his arm, half blown off at the forearm from where Connor had shot through the door. Blood dripped onto Delilah's beige carpeting from the gaping wound.

The other Russian Connor had aimed at was already dead, his eyes open in the stare of death. Murphy stood above the dead man, panting.

"There's a lot of fuckin' stairs." Connor nodded and Murphy shot the still alive Russian in the head.

Delilah watched all of this with wide eyes, trying to accept her new reality. She was in a dream-state, out-of-body for the whole experience. These men would've killed her had they gotten the chance, but she still was sickened by their deaths. They probably had families, mothers, fathers, sisters... wives, children...

Delilah cried, still leaning against the wall of the closet to support her weight. Connor hugged her and said, "Let's get you home."

**Где мало сука? - Where is the little bitch?**

**Вы думаете, что я знаю? Может быть, это была просто мародер или что-то. - You think I know? Maybe it was just a looter or something.**

**Нет, она здесь. - No, she's here.**

**A/N:** Thanks for all the watches, reviews please! Also, I could speed up the relationship of Connor and Delilah, but I just don't want to. XD Denial isn't just a river in Africa. (Yeah that joke doesn't work as good in text XD) ANYWAY, this is extremely late and I apologize profusely. I will grant you all Murphy and Connor shaped cookies.


	5. I'm With You

**Song Reference:** I'm with You  
**Artist: **Avril Lavigne  
**Lyrics: **Won't you take me by the hand, take me somewhere new? I don't know who you are, but I'm with you. I'm with you.

"So, 'ome sweet 'ome," Connor said as he pushed open the wooden door of the boys' apartment. He pulled his key out of the deadbolt and sat his and Delilah's bags just inside the door before stepping out of the way for Murphy and Delilah, his arms thanking him for putting down the heavy load.

Delilah didn't really seem curious about her surroundings, instead focusing on Connor. "Aren't the cops like... worried that there's a string of dead bodies behind me?" She asked. Connor looked over to Murphy at the question. He had been wondering the same thing, surprised their story at the ER had even held up this long.

Delilah examined the apartment without seeing, looking around nervously as she waited for Connor to answer. Impatience was just another trait Connor could say Delilah had, as she looked like she would be tapping her foot if it wasn't partially in a cast.

He sighed as he sat on an old chair in the corner of the room. "Aye, probably," Connor said as he buried his left hand into his hair and leaned that same elbow on the chair's arm.

"I'll... call Duffy," Murphy said, heading into the dimly lit hallway and shutting the door, which shut like a safe, with a loud thump. That, at least, did something to reassure Delilah. An elephant wouldn't be able to knock down that door. Not that she cared about an elephant, they were harmless. They liked peanuts.

Russian guys with Desert Eagles... they weren't so nice.

Connor was sure that Detective Duffy wouldn't be happy they were contacting him so quickly after the... death of Yakavetta. They couldn't help they had a penchant for trouble, it wasn't like they went looking for it. It just... fell into their laps.

"We'll see what we can do," He said, and tried the reassuring smile look people gave to other people who looked like they needed reassuring as she looked around the apartment. She wasn't so worried about her safety. She trusted the boys. They had already saved her life once. Trusting people comes pretty fucking easy when they're essential to staying alive.

She looked around her new sanctuary, taking it in. It was obviously a guy's apartment, without any embellishments. The white walls were bare, save for the book Connor had stood to hang his rosary on. If that even counted as decor.

Some of the walls were chipped and the kitchen looked sparkly clean, which surprised her. She supposed they probably weren't the types to do much cooking.

The moss green sofa near Connor looked comfortable and cushy, a nice bed to sleep on. Ooh, sleep. She felt the weight of a long day though it was barely 4pm. She didn't care if the sofa didn't have pillows or a blanket, it would still be comfortable.

Delilah pushed forward on her crutches, trying to go the last few feet towards the sofa and Connor. The pain made her gasp and she immediately stopped moving, looking over at Connor, who had crossed the room and was shouldering her bag.

"Are ya okay? I haven't gotten to the pharmacy yet to get ya pain pills..."

Delilah nodded. "Is it okay if I just... take a nap?" Delilah asked. She swayed a bit on her crutches and blinked heavily. Connor rushed over to give her a hand, straightening her crutches.

"Yeah, I'll take you," Connor said, pulling Delilah unhappily away from the inviting sofa.

"I thought I'd be sleeping there..." she said as he helped her down the narrow hallway seperating the bedrooms and bathrooms from kitchen and living room.

"Here it is," Connor said, opening the door and peeking in, then cringing. He pulled his head back out and looked at Delilah, scratching his head. "I'll be right back," he said as he dashed into the room. Delilah could hear shuffling sounds and the sounds of a closet, or maybe that was a drawer, shutting quickly.

Connor opened the door, scratching his neck. "Anyway, so..." he trailed off as Delilah walked in the room. There was a matress on the floor, mostly made, but with the comforter a bit rumpled. An alarm clock sat on the floor next to the bed, its wire trailing up and around to connect to the wall.

Peeking around the doorway, there was a closet that had something sticking out of it slightly and she rolled her eyes. One lone sock was the only thing that decorated the plain room with white walls and beige carpeting. She supposed it wasn't really all too shocking considering the boys didn't seem like they were all too sentimental.

Or girly.

No one who looked like that with their shirt off could be girly. It just wasn't possible.

The bedsheet and pillow cover didn't match either. The one pillow was covered with blue and white plaid, the sheet a dark gray.

Delilah thought she probably could've slept on a rock and found the slate sheet was a perfect fit, if not a bit comfier. She glanced back at Connor.

She blushed. "Could you like... leave?" she asked.

Connor was spacing, his eyes seeing through her. He snapped out of it at her voice, focusing those blue eyes on her face. He grinned. "Sure, I give ya my bed and ya kick me out. How rude of ya, little Miss. Delilah." His eyes grew large and he faked a pout, to which Delilah started giggling.

"Get outta here you Irish hooligan!" Delilah said, smacking him with one of her crutches, managing to balance on one foot. One day off duty hadn't ruined her balance, no matter how traumatic it was. She was a stripper, after all. Speaking of which...

"What should I do about... work?" Delilah asked quickly, before Connor made it out the door.

"Ya can call in later, tell 'em ya're sick and detained in your bed," he said, turning around to look at Deliah as he started to shut the door. He winked as he finished shutting it. "At least it wouldn't be far from the truth."

Delilah searched through her bag frantically, before looking back at the door sheepishly. "Uh… I forgot my pajamas!" She yelled, glad she wouldn't have to see his face after that admission.

"Uh… here," Connor walked back in and only opened his closet enough that his body fit in, disguising her view of what was inside. "Here's some sweats and a shirt… sorry it's got buttons… I've got to do laundry," he said, looking sorry. He placed the sweats and button-down shirt at the end of the bed before quickly exiting again so she could get dressed and get to sleep.

Delilah shook her head, trying her best to change into the makeshift pajamas. The pants she got on without much trouble, thankfully she had still been wearing her work shorts, so they weren't much to slip on. The sweats were extremely loose obviously, so she didn't have to worry about bending too much to put them on.

The shirt, that was a different story. Delilah felt as if her stomach was trying to rip open when she tried to lift her arms above her head to pull off her, or rather someone from the hospital's, shirt. Connor or Murphy had been nice enough to go acquire her another shirt after hers had gotten bloodstained. She was glad she'd remembered to pack a bra, and that she didn't have to wear them at work _now_, but putting them on would be a total bitch.

And showering. She cringed. She didn't even know if she could take a shower with a cast on. She might even need... _help_. She shook her head adamantly, as if talking to someone else about the possibility. That was one breech of her boundaries that she wasn't going to let fly, not when all of the other ones had been in the last day.

It was crazy, how her life had changed so fast. If not for the boys and that man, that disgusting man... She would be at home, watching T.V. or reading some crappy novel she could find at the pharmacy or on a grocery run to Walmart. Sometimes she didn't wake up until about this time since work didn't start until 7ish and her schedule was completely flipped.

She definitely wouldn't be laying in another man's bed, unless it was with the man. She wasn't used to guys giving things up for her, like seats on the bus or even holding a door open for her. Chivalry wasn't apparently all the way dead, and if all Irish boys were like Murphy and Connor... well, put her on the next plane to Dublin.

Delilah was glad for the buttons as she buttoned up the shirt, pulling it around her fairly easily and painlessly. She couldn't help but notice it smelled like Connor, slightly like whatever shaving stuff he used and the sexy spicy smell all hot guys must have imprinted into their genes.

It wouldn't do to think like that though, she had to remain completely detached from both of the men she was staying with. She knew this, especially since they were probably criminals of some kind. They had killed two men without so much as flinching… She might have to rat them out- No. She didn't have to think about this now.

Delilah slowly and painfully laid down on the bed, closing her eyes slowly. Hopefully Connor would bring her her meds soon and she wouldn't have to feel or think anything. That'd be nice...

Murphy came back up the stairs about 20 minutes later, opening the door to the apartment slowly. Connor sat on the sofa, his head in his hands.

"Dolly said Greenly's on the case. 'e'll tell 'im what's up… though 'e probably wouldn't 'ave to and Greenly'd get it wrong anyway," Murphy said, chuckling, grabbing a beer from the fridge after hanging his rosary up on the small hook by Connor's.

He plopped down on the sofa next to Connor, reclining as he popped his beer open, placing the cap on the armrest.

"Ya okay?" He asked his brother.

"Yeah… Murph… what the fuck have we gotten oursleves into?" Connor asked, putting his arms on his lap in front of him. They sat awhile as Murphy thought, or rather stared into space.

"Oh, a damn good mess, that's what," Murphy said, lauhging and taking a swig of his beer.

He grimaced and looked at the bottle closely for the first time. "What the fuck is this shit?"

"Ah, somethin' Doc sent home," Connor said, letting his head droop as he thought of the complicated shit they'd gotten not just themselves, but some girl involved in. It wasn't her fucking fault that she'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time… And yet she'd be the one with the scars and aches on rainy days while they were spotless.

Murphy shurgged, taking another sip of the supposedly terrible beer, as if to test if it was still as bad as the first time he had tried it.

He cringed, setting the beer down and looking to Connor with a grin. Connor internally sighed, knowing Murphy was up to something. "Whatdya want," Connor said, not asked, of Murphy. He didn't really want a reply.

"Sooo… when are ya plannin' on tellin' little Miss. Delilah O' Murphy that ya'd really like to see 'er naked? Or maybe she'll tell _me_, since 'er name is Ooooh Murphy!" Murphy asked, trying to get a rise out of the too stotic Connor.

Connor turned his head to glare, taking the bait. "Ya want 'er, ya looove 'er! Connor and Delilah, sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-" Murphy sang, jumping up miss Connor's fist, his beer in his hand again to save it from his brother.

"Shh! Fuckhead! She'll fuckin' 'ear ya! Don't fuck around!" Connor yelled, in a whisper, at Murphy.

"Who'll 'ear me? Your girlfrienndd?" Murphy singsonged, his voice gaining volume, stting his awful beer on the counter as Connor came at him.

Delilah emerged from the bedroom, her button down shirt only going to her knees. "Uh… the sweatpants wouldn't stay on," She said, blushing before rushing to the fridge to grab a water and starting to rush back before taking a quick sip of the beer on the counter.

Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the too heavy, too bitter foreign beer. It was nothing like she was used to, with some kind of odd Cedar cap at the bottom of it. It was fucking disgusting, that's what it was.

Murphy and Connor just continued staring at her, Connor's fist having stopped in midair and dropped to his side when Delilah came out.

"Uh… yeah. Sooo… night!" Delilah called, going as fast as she could on her crutches back to Connor's room.

"Soo… maybe ya already told 'er ya'd like to see 'er naked? And 'ave?" Murphy asked, turning on Connor with a grin.

"Oh shut the fuck up Murphy," Connor said, shaking his head and smacking Murphy on the back of his head.

**A/N:** So... I'm thinking there may be a six week time lapse at the beginning of the next chapter, but I'm not sure, to get Delilah healed up and more used to the brothers. Thoughts? I also think it may leave out important relationship building stuff. (shrug) Anywho, hope you enjoyed! I'd love some reviews!


	6. Change the World

**Song Reference:** Change the World

**Artist:** Anberlin

**Lyrics:** Heartache temporary, bullets only stop your blood... we could re-write history, if only you and me.

It'd been a long five weeks. Murphy and Connor had taken up a few odd jobs around the neighborhood to make ends meet since they couldn't reveal the mound of cash they had piled up... nor where they had gotten it from, to Delilah. Delilah had an appointment next week to get her cast off and could go back to work soon after that. Though they weren't happy with the job she was obviously going back to, she wouldn't let them baby her anymore.

McGinty's was a nice pub, Delilah decided. The floor was swept nearly clean, with only a bottle cap or two and some ash in the corners. The barstool's fake leather was cracked, the dark red splitting like a smile to reveal the yellow-white cushioning underneath. An old man was smiling from behind the counter as the three walked in.

"Boys! Haven't s-s-seen ya in a while!" The old man called as they crossed the small room, heading to the bar.

"Doc," Murphy said in greeting, before reaching across the scarred wood bar to give Doc a one armed hug. Connor repeated this motion, taking a stool next to Murphy's. Delilah stood by them, casting curious glances at the man they both seemed to know. It was a rare peek into their life, something they generally kept shrouded from her. Was it to protect them, or protect her?

Who was he? Was he the boys' father? Or did they really even know him... were they just displaying the classic charisma and assurance they always had with people, as they had with her? They had let her into their home without knowing her much at all, and yet it didn't faze them.

Maybe they were just partial to bartenders...

"Ah... you're f-f-forgettin' your- _Fuck! Ass!_ manners, boys. What's ye-yer name, lass?" Doc asked, turning his attention to Delilah.

"I'm Delilah," she said with a smile.

"Oh, and a pretty la-la- _Fuck! Ass!_ lass at that. W-w-what're you boys tryin' to do- _Fuck! Ass!_ to a man at my age?" He tossed the bartowel at Connor, who ducked it, and the boys watched the rag sail to the floor. Doc chuckled, "A friend o' t-t-the boys is a friend o' mine. Can I g-g-et ya somethi- _Fuck! Ass!_?"

"Uh, no, thanks. I don't drink," Delilah said. Delilah kinda felt bad for Doc, it was obvious he had Tourettes... However, it would be just a little easier to feel properly bad for him if it wasn't just a bit amusing.

Murphy rolled his eyes at the redhead and turned to Doc. "I'll have a beer," Murphy said. "To show Delilah what she's missin'."

"I did-did- _Fuck! Ass!_ didn't ask you what _you _wanted," Doc replied with a smile, wiping down a scotch glass and turning around to put it up.

The pub was starting to fill as it edged towards eight. A couple came in and went to the back booth after grabbing drinks, and a group of guys, probably just off work, sat near Murphy at the bar. A waitress came in to help Doc out, putting on a bar apron and setting to serve the guys down the bar.

They were closer to Delilah's age than Connor and Murphy, roughly early twenties as opposed to late. A quick lookover told Delilah that some of the guys in the group were fairly attractive. Not that she'd be able to hold her own flirting with one of them, with her leg banged up as it was. God knows that casts are just dead sexy.

Delilah turned away from the waitress flirting with them, glad that her loose jeans at least covered part of the ugly cast.

The waitress placed a drink in front of Delilah, saying "That man down there wanted you to have this." She winked, pointing out a guy down the bar.

He had light brown hair and was lounging on his stool, his legs pushed out to touch the bar. He caught her eye and winked, toasting his beer to hers.

"'Ey! Smart ass! She doesn't drink!" Connor called down the bar.

"Oh fuck you Connor," Delilah said. It wasn't as if the guy could've known.

She smiled down to the guy before getting up to walk away from Connor and Murphy without a glance back. She grabbed her drink and handed it to him. "Well, thanks anyway," she said with a smile. He set it down on the bar in front of him, next to his nearly empty beer.

He nodded in recognition of her thanks. "Any time," he laughed. "So, what's your name?" The spark in Delilah's eyes deadened a little, bored at the lame line of questioning she could see falling into place after years of work at a bar. Time to make this a little interesting.

She leaned into him a little further, fiddling with his collar with her finger, and giggled. "Could I ask you a favor?"

"What the _fuck_ is she doing?" Connor asked Murphy, who was happily drinking away at his second beer.

"It looks like she's just 'aving some fun. I know I would be. She's been stuck in the 'ouse for five weeks," came Murphy's good natured reply as he glanced down the bar to see Delilah where she had been for the last ten minutes, chatting up the fairly regular average working guy. Murphy'd really never noticed the guy before, but he'd bought Delilah a drink, so maybe she kind of felt obligated to talk to him now since she didn't drink it.

Connor still held his first beer, uncharacteristically nursing it as he glared at the brown haired man down the bar. "Are ya gonna need a nipple for tha' Connor?" Murphy asked.

"Wha? Oh. No." Connor looked back down the bar at the laughing couple. "I don't know what she's doin', but it could be dangerous. She doesn't know who that guy is or what 'is job is, who 'is boss is..."

"'e's 'ere like every night, Connor. 'as been for ages. You can probably ask Doc or Annie." Murphy nodded to the waitress who was walking by and caught her attention. She stopped, looking at him questioningly.

"What's up you two?" the pretty waitress asked, resting her empty drink tray on her hip. Damn she had a nice... tray. Murphy liked trays. He'd ordered a drink that came from her tray once.

"Who's that guy at the end of the bar, talking to the redhead?"

"That's Guinness," she said, looking at the pair that was giggling and leaning into each other. Delilah was sitting on the stool next to him now, her body facing away from Connor and Murphy. "Orders the same way every night. Works at some... office building or something. She your friend, Murph?"

"'E seems very threatenin' Connor." Murphy said, rolling his eyes at his brother. Then he turned his attention back to the very delectable Annie in her waitress outfit. He'd have to remember to thank Doc personally for his uniform selection. "No, Delilah's all his to deal with. But how about you?"

"Oh Murphy MacManus, you know I don't get off until 2. Talk to me then." She winked, pulling her tray back around to load it with the drinks Doc set on the bar for her. She walked back away with a grin, the extra weight putting a little extra swing in her hips.

Damn he loved trays.

"Guinness" was now toying with Delilah's hair, and Connor decided that was just about enough. She was compromising her safety. There's no way she could've known that that guy was safe to hang around. He could've been part of Beketov's underground posse or whatever.

He set his empty beer down on the bar after gulping the last of it down, sliding around in his chair to walk towards Delilah. "It's time ta go," he told her, breaking off what he was sure was an engaging and intelligent conversation.

Delilah glared at him. "It'll just be one second," she said, turning her back on him to continue talking. She got a pen from him and was attempting to write down her number.

"Fine Delilah, but Murphy and I are leavin'." He said, before glancing down the bar at said brother.

"I'll be back in the mornin'!" Murphy called down to Connor, his eyes on the waitress. Connor rolled his eyes and moved on, heading for the door.

"See ya Doc!" He called to the old man behind the bar, who smiled and nodded, continuing to wipe down glasses he was cleaning.

"...He's my ride, I've got to go..." Connor heard Delilah say softly to the guy, before turning to put on her coat and storm outside as fast as she could on her booted foot. Connor shook his head and followed her.

Doc turned to Murphy. "T-t-there's none so blind as walnuts and pears."

"Exactly, Doc, exactly," Murphy said, taking another long drink.

Delilah turned on Connor as soon as they were outside as they walked back to the apartment. "What the fuck was that? You had no right to do that!"

"I 'ad every right to do that. You don't know who that guy coulda been. You obviously didn't care though, even though Murph and I have been tryin' our damndest to protect yer ass!" Connor said, getting as much in her face as she was in his.

"...I didn't do that! He wasn't dangerous! You saw him!" Delilah yelled, getting more pissed off. She didn't at this point care if anyone in the apartments could hear them. It isn't like they would report anything to the cops.

"He fuckin' coulda been." Connor said.

"You're such an asshole! You say it's all about me not thinking, but you're the one who's not thinking! He wasn't fucking dangerous!" The guy was sweeter than almost any guy had a right to be. Fuck her if he wasn't secretly gay! Goddamit, why wouldn't Connor see!

"Doesn't matter whether 'e was or not, but you didn't think enough to even ask around a little bit before practically spillin' yer life story to the guy!" Connor yelled as well, obviously giving up being calm and cool.

"Oh, so now I'm easy! You're a fucking peach, you know that? You-You're just a _jealous_ fuckhead!" Delilah said, her red hair flying as she spun on Connor, stopping in her tracks. They were inches apart.

"...Pretty much," Connor said, leaning into her to give her a soft kiss. She stopped, her head immediately clearing and going blank as his lips pressed to hers. She just felt happy. As if everything that was supposed to happen had just happened. Goddamn, it was about time he figured it out. For Connor's part, he just couldn't get over how sexy she was when she was pissed off.

She kissed back, pulling him back in when he tried to break away after that first timid kiss, testing his boundaries with her. She opened her mouth to hot kisses when his tongue begged entrance, their tongues executing a dance that had sparks jumping between them, electricity in the air. Connor had wrapped his arms around her waist at some point, bringing her even closer, and she had put her arms around his neck, bringing his face into easier reach before she plunged her hands into his short hair.

They only broke away when they ran out of air. "We...we should go home..." Connor said.

"Oh, let's." Delilah said, nearly being picked up by Connor and rushed back to the apartment. Their trip was intermittently paused by kisses that couldn't be stopped, just a product of the electricity and the sexual tension that had been building on them from day one. Damn, Delilah was glad to be able to feel his slight stubble against her palm and marvel in the feel of his abs when he was pressed against her. She'd never liked that look, but don't touch, rule.

Inside, Murphy took a long gulp of his last beer and finished it off as he watched their fight and the beginning of their kiss before being a tad grossed out. "S'about time..." he muttered to himself. He looked to the waitress and the near empty bar. He had to wonder if she'd be off early tonight.

Meanwhile, Connor and Delilah were crashing into the door of the apartment and Connor was fiddling with the damn key to get the fucking door open. Delilah was in his arms leaning against it, grinding into him as he attempted to get the key into the correct spot and turn it. Every time he thought he had it, Delilah would do something particularly distracting and he wouldn't be able to concentrate, slipping where the key was.

Finally, he got the door open and they pushed inside, shutting the door behind them and dropping their coats in the doorway. Connor carried Delilah down the hall and to his bedroom, kissing down her neck with hot butterfly kisses that she turned her head to expose more of her neck to.

Connor got on his knees in front of the mattress on the floor and laid her down, climbing up to kneel over top of her to continue kissing up her neck and now up her stomach as he worked her t-shirt up and off her, tugging at the light blue sleeves. Her eyes met his and more sparks flew as she pulled his black t-shirt off of them. Connor unclasped her bra and slid it through her arms before tossing it on the floor.

"Condom?" Delilah asked.

"Yeah." Connor said, reaching for the small table at the corner of his room and opening a drawer to pull one out. Yes, technically, birth control was against Catholicism and both of them were technically strict Catholic, but they were a little past bad with this _one_ sin already.  
They each stopped to stare at each other for a moment, Connor taking in Delilah's fairly large and perfect breasts, and Delilah aching to touch Connor's defined muscles. Connor began tracing circles around one of her nipples with his thumb and smiled when her breath caught at his movement. He gently unclasped her cross and set it to the side of the bed, pulling his own rosary over his head and putting it next to hers.

She noted this and trailed her fingers across his abdomen, lightly stroking each line of his muscles. She could feel his hardness through his jeans, pressing into her deliciously.

Delilah unzipped his pants and pushed him up a bit to push them down, taking his boxers with the pants. She grabbed hold of his manhood and lightly squeezed, causing Connor to groan with pleasure.  
His mouth found hers and he sucked sweetly while tugging down her skirt and panties, wet from his actions. He teased her, inserting a finger and slowly pulling it out again and again, but Delilah arched her back, wanting more. Connor inserted a second finger, feeling her tight, hot, wet center.  
"Oooh fuck" She moaned. He moved his mouth to her right breast and sucked on her nipple, while playing with the left one with his free hand. He reached down to align himself with her and began to thrust to Delilah's movements, meeting each other in bliss. He played with her clit to make her whimper. He moved his head to suck on her nipples, still thrusting harder and deeper now.  
"Connor. Don't stop," she begged. She could feel him inside of her; total ecstasy. Her walls twitched against him and she knew he was close. She knew she was close, too. She pushed against his chest and rocked faster and harder. He groaned and she could feel the edge of oblivion approaching.  
"Ahhh!" she called, succumbing to pleasure with Connor.  
Connor collapsed to the side of Delilah, and she cuddled up to him after he took care of the used condom. She wanted to rest her head on his smooth chest, feel his breath come back to normal as he came down from the high. He played with her red hair, twirling bits around his finger and tracing her back with another.  
"Hmm..." she hummed before falling asleep against his chest. He followed not long afterward, wondering if maybe she was his _one_. But it was too early for that. He drifted to sleep as the church bells near them rung two in the morning, the girl who was never supposed to be involved curled up next to him. She didn't even know who the saints were yet.

When Delilah woke up the next morning, neither Connor or Murphy were in the house. There was just a small note that looked like it had been torn out of a phonebook that simply said: We'll be back later, don't worry. The other thing that was irritating Delilah that morning was she had an _itch_. A horrible, horrible itch.  
She couldn't get her mind off of this fucking itch. Every time she tried to ignore it, it felt like a spider or some other creepy crawly creature was crawling up and down the inside of her cast. She _needed_ to get at that scratch. Before it drove her insane.  
There was nothing in the bathroom to stick down her cast, and nothing in the kitchen, even after a thorough search of it. Murphy's room was entirely bare except his bed on the floor, lacking even a closet like Connor had. That was it! Connor's closet! She rushed into the room, happy with her sleepy discovery.  
Sadly, when she opened the doors, there didn't seem to be anything inside worth taking a look at, or something that could fit down her boot. This itch was driving her absolutely _insane_. When she shut the first door to close it however, a small duffel bag fell out onto the ground.  
Delilah sighed, moving to look at the duffel. It was just an ordinary black one, not unlike you would see at any airport at any time. Curiosity got the better of her, and she zipped the heavy bag open, peering inside the dark. She pulled back sharply at what she saw, panicking a little.  
Inside the bag there were wads and wads of what looked like hundred dollar bills, a small bag of pennies, and two very very deadly looking guns. Delilah had never been a keep-up-on-the-news kind of girl, but even she knew what this probably meant. And what it meant for her as well. The Saints. Why hadn't Connor thought she was important enough to know?  
If she wasn't important enough to know... maybe she had just been an easy lay last night, instead of her hopes for something a little more. She hadn't hoped for a 100 year marriage or anything, but anything was better than this. Despair came in a little black duffel bag.  
Delilah heard a door softly shut somewhere in the apartment and quickly stuffed the duffel bag into the closet, sliding the doors shut. She wiped away the stray tear that lingered on her chin angrily, hoping Connor or Murphy wouldn't notice the red at her eyes. She opened the door to the hallway with a smile, knowing that's what the boys would expect after their time together.  
"...Connor? Murphy? Are you here?"  
A large man stood in the way of the hallway, a man in a beige suit. "Why, hello there again Miss. Delilah." He snapped and Delilah felt a shift in the air behind her, but couldn't move even nearly fast enough to deflect the blow to her neck.  
The world fell to black.

"Where could she be?" Connor asked, looking around his room while Murphy watched from the hallway.  
"Maybe she ran to the pub. She might've gotten bored."  
"No, I don't think she'd do that..." Connor glanced around his room one more time, as if expecting Delilah to magically appear somewhere in the room. He noticed something small poking out of his closet and moved to look at it, tugging at it from outside the closet doors. It seemed fairly heavy, so he opened them and peered inside the black bag.  
"Murph. She's not coming back. Look what she found." Connor sadly turned the duffel over to Murphy, who examined it's damning contents. Why couldn't they have just told Delilah in the first place? It had been dangerous to let her stay with them and think that they were completely harmless when they were not. It had been dangerous to let her develop feelings for them when they couldn't be the men... Connor couldn't be the man she deserved. Someone honest.  
"I think I know of another explanation, Connor." Murphy had come into Connor's bedroom now, looking around for himself. Delilah's cross still sat on the ground where it had been placed last night.

"She wouldn't leave without this." Murphy said, looking at his brother with anger and fear for Delilah in his eyes. The same thoughts and worries were mirrored by Connor.  
"...She didn't leave. She was taken."**  
A/N: **next chapter is the last, and it's already posted. No waiting time! Yay!


	7. Anthem of the Angels

**A/N: **I just thought I'd warn all of you, this chapter is a major reason why this fic is rated M. There is no lemon, I'll tell you that right now, but there's serious adult issues and themes that kiddies need to steer clear of. Got it? Also, there's no song reference at the beginning because it's at the end this time. And sorry for the double update, but I wanted to get it all posted and know everyone's reactions!

The brothers snapped into action immediately. Murphy went to the closet and pulled out their duffel bags with guns, gloves, and pennies. Connor was hurriedly rushing down the stairs to contact Duffy as to where Beketov's known addresses were... or any of his associates. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"I can't get you that information, Connor. It's restricted!" Duffy said into the phone, glancing around the station. No one was paying attention to him, either off on patrol duty or dealing with suspects. "Just... hold on." He hung the phone up and walked back to a more private office, moving the mouse to get the computer going.  
He typed Beketov into the system, tapping his fingers and waiting for it to load the Russian's information up. He glanced under the shades... no one was coming. "Come on, come on!" He whispered at the computer. It beeped its completion after a minute, and Duffy grabbed a pad of paper, scribbling some information down with the pen that was in his pocket. Addresses. That was what the boys wanted.  
With a little more looking, Duffy discovered that Beketov was a suspect in three murders last month, but it didn't seem like they had much evidence to prove it. Three guys out on a boat for a fishing trip had just disappeared. One body had been found, shot in the back of the head.  
After deleting his search and checking around the door, he hurried out and back to his phone. He immediately called Connor back. "I've got two addresses for you. One of them is home, one of them is one we can't really pin on him but are almost sure is his."  
"...Give me both." Duffy had to wonder what this Beketov guy had done to get on Connor's shitlist.

Connor and Murphy headed out as soon as Connor ran back upstairs with the information. They walked down to Doc's pub, borrowing his car for the drive across town. Doc worried about them, about how silent they were.  
"You boys don't do anythin' stupid, h-h-hear me?" Doc said to their retreating backs. Murphy merely nodded, Connor didn't say anything at all.  
They couldn't let another friend die... Well, whatever she was to Connor. They hadn't really gotten to get it figured out before she was taken by that scumbag. Connor and Murphy piled the duffels in the back seat, knowing they were already failing Doc.  
Beketov was sure to have a ton of guys at this place, and probably more than his crew, knowing that he was a trafficker. Connor grimaced at the thought of what could be happening to Delilah... he'd personally cut the dick off of any man who tried to touch her during her short stay there. She'd probably already been there maybe three hours, possibly less.  
Hopefully they would get there before anything worse than just being kidnapped happened to her.**  
**They were headed to the industrial address that Duffy had given them. It was about two blocks away from the Two-Leafed Clover, which made sense. Beketov had probably just been picking easy targets. Strippers there seemed to come and go a lot, with working conditions there declining as they were.  
Who knew if Delilah was even the first stripper he'd taken from that place. But maybe she was, considering the boys had made it a challenge for him. Not that it really mattered whether she was the first to be taken from the Two-Leafed Clover or not. Connor was still going to fucking kill him.  
Connor and Murphy nodded at each other, grabbing their guns out of the backseat. Extra ammunition went in their pockets, and Connor slapped Murphy on the back as they walked in the door. No plans, nothing. Definitely not following Doc's suggestion.  
"Nervous Murph?" Connor asked his brother, both guns ready.  
"Not one fucking bit. Let's kill these fuckers." Murphy said, both of his own guns pointed at the door. Connor opened it, and in they went.  
There were two heavy guards at the entrance that were surprised from their conversation when Connor and Murphy burst through the door. Before they had much chance to pull their guns, the brothers had already dispatched of them. They fell to the ground heavily, two nearly identical thuds resounding throughout the room.  
Thankfully, a shout or an alarm didn't go up across the large warehouse. Murphy and Connor glanced at each other before moving on, sneaking through the warehouse. They didn't know how many people were there, otherwise they would've gone in in a more direct approach (ie. Guns blazing). They couldn't help Delilah if they were dead though.  
And they didn't want another innocent death on their hands.  
In front of them there was a curtained off part of the building. They pushed I aside the grimy curtain of fabric, revealing a hallway of sorts with other portions of it curtained off. They glanced at each other, guessing what this area was. They pulled back into the room with the dead guards to talk strategy for a moment.  
They had no idea what was in all of those rooms. They had a fair guess, but it wasn't a guess worth chancing their lives and Delilah's on.  
"We have to kill those fuckers," Murphy said, his guns still up and waiting for Connor's decision.  
"Let's go in," Connor decided with a nod. "You take left and I'll take right."  
The boys stepped into the makeshift hallway, opening the first curtain only to find it empty. There was a mat on the grimy floor, and what looked like an alarm clock, but there were no occupants. The second one was empty as well, and they glanced at each other. There was many other curtained off rooms, but were they all going to turn out empty? They didn't want to waste time...  
But if they couldn't help Delilah, the least they could do was help the other girls. Connor turned to Murphy. "Why don't ya take care of the rest o' the rooms, I'll go find Delilah," he told, more than suggested, to Murphy. Murphy nodded, moving towards the next room without stopping. They were all business now.  
After Connor went his own way, Murphy found a sight he thought would stay with him the rest of his life. A man, overweight and old, probably a crime boss or someone high up on the arms chain, was pumping into a woman that was clearly out of it. Her eyes weren't closed, but wore a glazed look, staring at the ceiling. He wondered if she even knew the man, if you could call him that, was assaulting her.  
He yanked the man back by his collar, pulling him off the near-dead woman. The last thing that went through his mind was a bullet. He never saw what was coming. Murphy looked up at the woman, at the sallow yellow skin and filthy hair from her condition. He clenched his jaw, seeing that she was hooked up to an iv. He didn't think it was fluids.  
No. More than likely, something like heroin. Beketov was addicting the girls he was planning on shipping abroad to drugs, so they wouldn't be _able_ to run away. Nor did they have the willpower to even attempt an escape. It was a win-win for Beketov. Not only were the women practically comatose, but they were will willing to do whatever it took to send them to their next oblivion. Robots with a pulse. If Murphy hurried up, perhaps he'd get a chance to help Connor kill the bastard who had done this to this woman and probably loads of similar women.  
He smoothed her lifeless greasy blond hair back, grabbing the old bastard's coat off the chair. She was on the brink of death, he could see it. And he couldn't save her. He covered her with the coat, signing the cross over his chest above her. Then he turned to leave, moving for the next room.

Connor had hurried down the hallway, pushing aside curtains, not caring if he caused a disturbance. None of them would be armed, he was sure of it, and Murphy would take care of them later. But he had to find Delilah.  
At the very end of the makeshift hallway, there was a larger section of curtain that could be held back. It looked slightly cleaner than the rest, so he assumed this was the "business" side of the establishment. They were still the dingy lavender-gray that seemed to be the original color, but didn't have the stains from unmentionable things and dirt like the others.  
He pushed them aside, looking into a room that seemed clean, but still as dim as the rest of the warehouse. Beketov stood, hovering over a hospital-type bed that had been pushed against the center of the wall on the other side of the room. "My my, I was wondering when you were going to show up." Beketov sneered at Connor, his normally decent face contorting into an ugly mask. His Russian accent grated on Connor's nerves even further, knowing which crime family he probably had alliances with.  
Connor kept his gun pointed at the larger man, trying to see around him. Beketov's arm moved, slightly. "Don't move! What's behind ya?" He yelled.  
"Oh, just your little girlfriend." Beketov stepped casually to the side, as if he did things like this every day.  
Delilah... Connor finally had a clear view of her on the hospital bed. She was decent, which was at least good, but her skin was pale, her eyes glassy. She wasn't moving, the expression on her face blank. If he hadn't seen the small movement of her breathing, he would have sworn she was already gone.  
One of Beketov's arms that had been hidden came around, and he lifted his hand, dropping a thin needle to the ground, where the glass broke with a small crash. "Oops."  
"What the fuck was that?" Connor yelled.  
Beketov moved his arm again, stroking the redhead's hair. "Leave 'er alone!" Connor shouted uselessly at the man, holding his ground. Beketov still hadn't revealed what was in the other hand, and he couldn't let Delilah get hurt if he himself made the dumb mistake of underestimating Beketov. _Again_.  
Connor registered that there was an IV behind Delilah, connected to her arm. "What the fuck did ya just inject 'er with?" Connor asked, he was scared for Delilah, and at the same time furious at Beketov. The emotions came out in his voice.  
"Your little birdy was so sweet... she came long and hard all morning for me, screaming my name. I have the scratches as proof of just how fiesty this redhead is." Beketov goaded with a small pompous smile on his lips, patting Delilah's leg through the cover on her bed. She didn't stir at all. Connor didn't believe anything he said for a second, but it pissed him off even thinking about Beketov touching her. Or thinking about Beketov _thinking_ about touching her.  
"You must not have been very good in bed if she had to come to me for satisfaction. Which she did. Over and over again," Beketov smirked. "What? No stamina? Too small?" He heartily laughed at Connor's expense, Connor trying to focus on not shooting Beketov. It was a mantra in his head. _Don't shoot, he could kill Delilah. Don't shoot, he could kill Delilah. Who knows what's in his other hand. Don't shoot, he could kill Delilah._  
Connor's hand shook in a fight of willpower, and a shot rang out. He ducked out of reflex and gasped, looking over at Delilah. She seemed fine, still in the same position as she had been the whole time he was there. He looked behind him, where the shot had come from, and Murphy stepped out from behind the curtains. Beketov had slumped over, his leg bleeding profusely. Connor shot Beketov's hand while he was distracted with his leg and Murphy before Beketov could pull the trigger on his brother. "Get 'is ass out of 'ere." Connor said to Murphy.  
"Gladly." The two brothers' eyes met, and they instantly reached the understanding that they would do _that one_ together.  
Connor rushed over to Delilah as Murphy started dragging Beketov out of the room as he slowly bled to death. "Are ya okay?" He asked, moving to look her straight in the eyes. She didn't seem to be able to move very much.  
She slightly shook her head, her head bobbing just a fraction of an inch. His eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't really see anything wrong with her. "We'll get ya out of 'ere Delilah. I.. I'm sorry we didn't tell ya who we are." He said, spilling one of the worries he had had over the last day. Worried she wouldn't accept it, would think they were lunatics.  
Her eyes softened a bit and she whispered "S'okay..." Her eyes drooped and Connor's stomach dropped.  
"Delilah, what did 'e inject you with? I've got ta know. Just... tell me when I touch it." He put his hand on a few of the random jars and bottles that were cluttering the small medical cabinet they had there for her. He ignored the bottle of water and mortar and pestle next to them. Finally his hand landed on a prescription pill bottle and she slightly nodded at him. He grabbed it, scanning the instructions. He didn't understand anything of it.  
He shook it, realizing what was inside of it was just pills. "Did 'e... grind 'em in this?" He pointed to the mortar and pestle, "An' mix it in with this?" He pointed to the bottle of water, which would have allowed the solution to get through the needle and into her iv. He slipped the pill bottle into his pocket, so he could tell the doctor they were going to take her to immediately that this is what she had been injected with. A liquefied version of whatever these little pills were.  
She nodded just slightly again, her eyes falling a bit more closed. "'ey, Delilah don't go ta sleep just yet, okay? Ya 'ave ta stay awake with me." Connor pressed his lips softly to hers, sighing. "We were so worried... so worried we hadn't gotten 'ere in time." His eyebrows furrowed again as he rethought the kiss. Her lips were cool, not warm like they had been.  
He decided it was time for a doctor. _Now_. "Delilah... I'll be right back. I'm going ta tell Murphy ta call an ambulance, okay?"  
Delilah shook her head at him and he turned back slightly, worried. He noticed her pupils were contracted more than normal for this lighting. "Don't go... stay." She said softly. Her voice was hoarse, probably from screaming dangerous insults at her captors. Connor couldn't imagine that she would take kindly to being a hostage.  
"You're really sick Delilah, I need to get you to a 'ospital _right now_. I can't let ya die, I can't let ya go..." Connor squeezed her hand, again noticing how cool her skin was. That couldn't be safe.  
"It's too late Connor..." Delilah said, her beautiful blue eyes looking up into his.  
"It can't be. It's not too late, I can save ya." Connor pleaded.  
A small tear fell from the corner of her eye, tracking a white trail on her already pale, ashen skin. "I love you... Connor..." she closed her eyes, her shallow breathing finally slowing to a halt.  
"Delilah!" Connor called, useless. He fell to his knees, buried his face in her blanket, darkening and dampening the dingy white cloth with agonizing tears, each breath harsh against the lumpy weave. In a few minutes, a cold calm settled over Connor. His breathing returned to normal, and he could look up at the girl who looked so much like a china doll and had changed their lives so much these past few weeks.  
She hadn't deserved this. If they were saints, she was an angel. Her ephemeral presence a blessing in their lives. He reached to her face, stroking her cheek tenderly. "I love you too, Delilah." He stood from where he had been on his knees, pulling himself together to finish this. Not for long, just long _enough_. He placed her cross from his pocket in her upturned hand, shutting his eyes briefly at the stab of pain in knowing his only reminder of her was gone. But she deserved to have it with her.  
He walked out of the room, promising to return for her. Murphy stood in the hallway and looked up at him questioningly. Connor shook his head sharply, and only once. Murphy understood, his expression quickly turning grim at the death of another friend.  
He yanked Beketov up by his hair, sitting him up on his knees quickly. He swiftly pulled his gun to one side of Beketov's head, followed by Connor, coming up on the other side.  
"And shepherds we shall be..." Connor started. "For Thee, my Lord, for Thee."  
"Power 'ath descended forth from Thy 'and." Murphy continued. Beketov whimpered under them, finally realizing he had fucked with the wrong guys. "that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command."

"We shall flow a river forth to Thee, and teemin' with souls shall it ever be." Connor said, meeting eyes with his brother.  
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." They finished together. Two muffled shots of silencers on skin resounded, and a thump followed as Beketov slumped to the floor, dead.

_Connor sat on a wooden chair, the slated kind, with arms, that you usually only see in offices. He sighed, taking a long drag out of his cigarette and watching the smoke fade into the odd pale misty silence that surrounded him. A woman's arms wrapped around his neck from behind, her head leaning on his as she inhaled. He recognized her scent.  
Delilah.  
She tilted her head again, and this time a few subtle waves of red hair drifted over his shoulder. He could feel the tickling sensation, and the warmth of her behind him and of her breath on his neck.  
"Is this... real?" he asked her, wondering if he was going crazy.  
"Does it need to be?" She asked. She pulled his cigarette away from his mouth, dropping it on the ground softly. "You smoke too much." She sighed, kissing his neck, his jaw, and when he turned to look at her, his lips.  
"I love ya, Delilah. Ya never got to 'ear me say it."  
"It didn't matter. I already knew." She moved around his chair to look him straight in the eye. He couldn't help but be a little in shock at her healthy appearance. She was _glowing_, absolutely radiating happiness. It permeated his skin, working into his system along with the joy of just seeing her again.  
"You need to know that whatever happened to me, it wasn't your fault." She stared into his eyes intently, willing him to believe her. "You can't blame yourself. You're needed." She shook his shoulder slightly, to remind him of the importance of what she had just said. "They need you. We all need you. And Murphy."  
He inhaled her sweet scent in the air, and the soft silence after her melodic voice has ceased. "But... your time here is over for now. Go home, Connor. And don't come back to me until you're no longer needed." She laid a warm kiss on his lips._

Connor startled awake in his own apartment. He had taken to sleeping on the couch, his bed too filled with memories of Delilah. Delilah... who he'd just been with. It had been so real... he could still feel her lingering touch, smell, the warmth on his lips.  
Across the room, Murphy looked at him. When Connor finally met his eyes, Murphy tossed him an empty duffel bag. "Pack your bags, we're going 'ome."

_Whosoever shed last blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For immunity of god make he the man. Destroy all that is evil, so that which is good may flourish. And I shall count thee among my favored sheep. And you shall have the protection of all the angels in heaven._  
**  
Song Reference:** Anthem of the Angels  
**Artist: **Breaking Benjamin  
**Lyrics: **Cold light above us, hope fills the heart and fades away. Skin white as winter, as the sky returns to gray. I keep holding onto you, but I can't bring you back to life. Sing the anthem of the angels, then say the last goodbye.

**A/N:** Wow. It's over. Well, tell me what you thought of the ending. Presumably after this point, the story would just pick up and be canon again, making a romantic interlude such as this possible. I know there's some mistakes in all of the chapters, especially regarding consistency of the accent, but I tried my hardest to make this a decent enough fic so that it wouldn't be an insult to the writing of the Boondock Saints.  
And yeah, I know. You killed her, you bitch! D: Trust me, I know. Thanks for your support throughout the fic! (Also, I feel a little bad for leaving Murphy with no romance. So at some later time and date... there may just be a sequel. It could be at the same time as this... or some other time all together. I don't know, just my thoughts for now!) (and I know this sounds odd, but really, Murphy is my favorite of the two brothers. The actor is my favorite too XD, though I think Sean Patrick Flanery certainly has a ring to it... and he definitely is very... hot. XD)


	8. AN: Even Sinners

**Sorry to get anyone's hopes up and spam your emails, this is not an update! (Well, kind of)**

Murphy's story, Even Sinners, is being posted weekly to biweekly now. Connor had the good girl, Murphy's... isn't exactly good.

**Summary**: Connor and Murphy's lives have gotten a lot more complicated back in the states. Murphy has his eye on a girl who's connected to the mafia, and she has her eyes, and her gun, on him. MurphOC. Lemon.

You can check it out on my profile!


End file.
